Catalyst
by xxFeline.Of.Avenue.Bxx
Summary: Because there is always a breaking point. The events that took place before Thor that led to Loki's downward spiral. Some Loki/OC, but that isn't the main focus of the story. For NaNoWriMo
1. Chapter 1

So, this is my NaNoWriMo project. Initially, I just wanted to write a decent Loki/OC fic to prove wrong all of the haters, but his character is just so...there's so much complexity, I'm honestly hooked, so this story really is more about him and the downward spiral that takes place before Thor. I realize that occasionally I don't make sense when I write, but as far as I'm concerned, Loki's thoughts are jumping all over the place, and my style is very stream of conscious-y. So yeah, there's my defense.

Standard disclaimers apply

Truly, I hope you all enjoy this!

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><p>I.<p>

And it has always been there.

_Always. _

Deep inside, sitting, waiting, watching until the perfect time. Waiting until he was weak and it could consume him.

It is fire and he does nothing to put it out, because what is the point anymore? Asgard is his. Father may never wake and if he does…well Loki is prepared for that too. When his father wakes, he will have gotten his revenge, but he will be a hero. Thor will be forgotten, unimportant and for once in his life, Loki will prove himself a worthy son.

His hands tighten and loose around the staff he holds as he sits in the throne. His throne. His lips twist and curl into something close to a smile. His throne, his kingdom, his realm. No one can deny him this no matter how hard they try, and try they will. These cruel, wicked, ungrateful people will abuse him and throw him down and do everything they can to make sure he does not have a moments worth of success. Just as they always have.

This time, when he tightens his hand, his grip doesn't slack. It constricts until the metal presses against bone and bruises and his knuckles become pure white. A nasty scowl manifests on his face as well, he doesn't try to fix it and giving in feels beautiful. Glorious, as though for once in his life he is free.

Yes, that is what he is, free.

There was a time when he believed that he already was. He thought that not having to take responsibility for the throne was freedom, but he sees now just how wrong he was. He was never free, he was just blind to all that trapped him.

He closed his eyes and lied to himself whenever his father chose Thor over him, and when did father not choose Thor? He turned a blind eye to those who looked at him like he was some sort of abomination because he was not all that his brother was. He pushed aside all of his doubts and his jealousy and his hate because he wanted the illusion of equality. No more of that. He rakes a nail down the long golden staff and his scowl becomes that same twisted smile that he wore only moments ago.

No, he will not need that illusion, in a few sweet minutes, Thor will be dead, Laufey will be slain and Jotunheim destroyed. All thanks to him. Equality will be a thing of the past, for once he will be the favorite. He can almost feel the praise that he knows he will receive. Almost, but not quite. There are still important matters to attend to.

Pinch the eyes shut, hand on the bridge of the nose, paralyzing headache coming on, but it will all be worth it. Controling the Destroyer is no easy feat, but the rewards he will reap are so glorious.

Blast this to bits, smash that to pieces. Sif seems intent on dying and it will be no great loss to him if she chooses to sacrifice herself. She always was far too eager to battle for her own good. Perhaps if she is gone, Thor will fight him.

And then…what is this? Thor, playing the martyr. So humbled, so much less arrogant than Loki remembers, but that does not mean he cares. His spoiled, privileged brother's sudden change of heart does not mean that he has had one. Thor has had a few months of cruelty to change him, Loki has had decades worth. Thor will not live to be as jaded.

"Brother, forgive me for whatever wrong I did to you. But these people are innocent, taking their lives will change nothing. So take mine." Thor stands in front of him, so willing to die to save these mortals. Unfortunately, martyrdom has never impressed the god of mischief.

Loki arches an eyebrow when he hears this, but quickly becomes irritated with the prospect of mercy. Why should Thor receive it when he never has? Why should one sweet apology from Asgard's golden boy be worth more than thousands of Loki's? The Destroyer whips around and throws Thor aside as though it is slapping a child's toy away.

Who would have thought it would be so easy?

And then, Thor rises, like a Phoenix from the ashes of his brother's hate and comes back with all of his glory, and is once again, blessed with the power of Mjolnir .

Loki should have known better, he should have known that the AllFather would come through for his favorite son in the end. He should have known that even with the help of the destroyer, to do something right, you must do it yourself. He should have known his brother wouldn't die so easily. Something cracks inside of Loki as he watches the Destroyer fall. He had counted on it, what a terrible miscalculation.

It was a flaw, a mistake, an error and it will cost him greatly. There is no margin for error. He doesn't have much time now. His task must be accomplished quickly.

He removes himself from the throne and walks quickly, silently, with purpose.

The King of the Frost Giants is in Odin's chamber by now and has his false sense of security. Loki might take pride in the fact that this villain could be deceived, but truly, it was all too easy. Not even a challenge. Not even fun.

Fun.

Remember when this was all for fun? Remember when mischief was just a game?

He barely does. He was once a child with a knack for trouble, a desire to destroy what was perfect, because that is something that he can never be. He does not long for the days of parlor tricks and turning wine into snakes and letting the Frost Giants into Asgard, simply to cause a little havoc, not when he has destruction at its purest form right in front of him. Loki will not allow himself to feel nostalgic, not when he is finally becoming something more than Thor's shadow.

His face distorts and twists and something in his throat tightens until he cannot breathe. He shakes the feeling quickly. Forget it, forget it all, forget youth and naivety and the days when he was fool enough to love his brother and believed that his father did not choose a favorite. Of course he chose a favorite and of course it was Thor. Loki was a Frost Giant, a prisoner in a place he once called home, thrown away until Odin could find use for him. No, Odin never loved him. Nor did anyone else, no matter how they claim to, they will always choose another.

Until now. He is not a foolish child any longer. He is a king, and who will be able to deny him when he becomes a hero?

One, two, three more steps. Open the door, silently, Laufey is too caught up in his monologue to hear anything though.

Loki is sickened by how he can relate. So often caught up in his own racing, screaming, pounding thoughts that the world around him fades out. No, no he will not be like Laufey, never. He will not be similar to this man…his father. His face turns into something far nastier. Destroy the king of the Frost Giants and then wipe out Jotunheim and he will never again be reminded of what sort of monster he truly is. His stomach tightens as he advances, silently.

The staff is a raw manifestation of his anger, his rage and he cannot wait until it destroys the Frost Giant in front of him. Find a way to toe the line. Be swift, but be patient. Wait until Laufey finishes his little speech, a little theatricality never hurt, especially when Loki has been so subtle and so caged his entire life. Now is the time to let go and drink up this liberation.

He remembers a time when such a thing would never have been possible, when, despite his carefree use of magic and the irresponsibility he was allowed, Odin would not have let the most useful of these stolen relics get away. He never wanted to leave, he never craved escape all he ever wanted…is unimportant. He reminds himself that he is not a child who craves something as silly as equality and that he should never want to be. Not when he has this sort of power, not when he is discovering exactly what chaos can do when properly utilized.

Laufey touches his father's still form, peels open the eye he has left and in that moment, Loki does not know who he hates more. His real father or the one who claims to love him like one. He cannot decide which part of him is real and which is a lie. That will change very soon though. Just do this, end him quickly and silently and then Loki can move onto demolishing that filthy, wasteland that is Jotunheim.

"It is said you can still hear and see what transpires around you. I hope that is true, so that you may know your death came at the hand of Laufey." Laufey makes his move now, he is so close and Loki is so tempted to let the giant murder the AllFather when his better judgment reminds him that Odin's murder is not part of the plan. The god of mischief uses a force he has never known and lets that rage flow through the staff as it throws Laufey aside.

Hate, bitterness, rage and then still, that crippling, destructive loneliness. He takes what he assumes is them at a level he has never seen before and channels them, focuses them, lets them consume him as he holds the staff up and takes aim.

All of this pain, so pure , so raw, so untainted, and yet, somehow, so unimpressive. He thought that unleashing all of it would feel different, instead, it feels like an untamed version of how he normally is. Himself without the leash, without the cage. All of this bitterness is him in his purest state. He blames this all on Odin and Laufey and Thor and everyone else who has dangled hope in front of him for so long and then shoved him down when he was close to reaching it.

Reaching for so long.

So long.

So long.

"And _your_ death came by the son of Odin." He narrows his eyes and fires and watches as Laufey is destroyed.

Just as he is. Just as he was.

So long ago.

Something twists and claws and bites at the very fabric of his existence because now, his eyes are open. Wide.

How has he never noticed before? How has he never seen what has been staring him in the face for so long?

He remembers everything, if there were a time when this did not exist, surely, he would know. But he cannot. He cannot recall a time when hate and bitterness and rage and jealousy and loneliness did not fill him.

He does however, remember _exactly_ when they began to consume him.

He remembers when it all began.


	2. Chapter 2

To those of you who don't know, NaNoWriMo is mainly about writing lots, not writing well. Needless to say this IS unbeta-ed. Please forgive any issues with characterization or pacing. Reviews make me sing songs about how awesome life is. Seriously.

Standard Disclaimer

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><p>II.<p>

_Lurk-__To lie or wait in concealment, as a __person__ in ambush; remain __in__ or__ around__ a __place__ secretly__ or__ furtively._

Brace yourself. It is coming. Creeping in, bleeding onto the paper of your life like a slow spreading liquid fire.

It has been coming for years. Perhaps it has already arrived but you are just beginning to realize that there is an uninvited house guest lurking in the darkest recesses of your mind. It stays in the shadows, just watching. Never speaking, never touching, never breathing. You deny it for years, you deny it now, even as it begins to show itself.

Open the closet door, see if there are any monsters hiding behind it.

Open it and you will never go back.

It has been three days since Loki last slept.

Three days and he counts that as a success. With a pounding head and roaring thoughts, sleep is nearly impossible to obtain anyway, but with the noise that has exploded across the palace and the events that caused it, even thinking of sleep makes the god of mischief scoff.

A date has been set for Thor's coronation. The fact that it is almost a year away does not stop the palace from breaking out into an uproar.

Lavish parties with delicacies that tickle even Volstagg's fancy are thrown. Days are spent sparring in the ever present, summer sun of Asgard, nights include wine, ale and the fairest women in the realm. Between the roaring laughter, the uncensored moans, the battle cries and the constant hustle and bustle of those who have the misfortune (or blessing, Loki supposes, depending on how one looks at it) of planning the coronation, not a single second of the day is reserved for silence.

Naturally, the god of mischief is the only one who finds the constant noise even mildly unpleasant.

All he longs for is a quiet place to think and something to cure this curious twisting in his stomach. He does not crave the social scene that his brother does, and more often than not, when he declines and invitation, party guests do not miss him.

But those parties are tolerable evils. Loki can push through them. Spend a few hours locked in a conversation with Hogun about something that means absolutely nothing while enjoying a glass or two of wine. Laugh along with Thor, maybe even chat with Sif for a moment or two. These things are simple, mindless. When things get particularly dull, all he has to do is stir up a little trouble, not much, just enough to keep him entertained. If he really did not want to be there, he could project some sort of clone into the party and let it deal with these trivial matters and no one would be any the wiser.

Today is different though. Today, he cannot escape. The event that he dreads most is the one he will be forced to attend.

Come one, come all to the party that celebrates the future king of Asgard. Or, rather, come if you are royalty or a member of the court. Only the elite will feast in the house of Odin tonight.

Loki stares, with a complete lack of amusement at the wall across the room, wondering if it would be completely inappropriate to turn himself into a birdand fly away, mid-conversation with Fandral's current…girlfriend? No, not girlfriend, that implies some sort of real attachment, mistress is a better word for what she is. Her name is Herdis, and surely, she is quite beautiful, but were it not for his incredible memory, Loki would forget everything about this girl the second he turned away from her. With any luck that will be soon. The conversation with her is so slow going that he feels he might be losing brain cells.

He does not want to be here, for the life of him, but everyone who matters in the realm of Asgard will be here, and just because Loki will not take a seat on the throne, does not mean that he is exempt from making useless small talk with those who have been invited to tonight's gala.

A façade. A show. The gods put on the most extravagant shows in the world. They become the characters that others expect them to be, the ones that they are not behind closed doors. Everyone assumes that Loki is the liar, that his silver tongue and his ability to manipulate make him deceitful, but they don't see what they are. They do not take the time to observe.

Ladies of the court smile at each other and laugh and throw around compliments as though they are a dying fad. A Liesmith can see through such acts instantly. How is it possible not to realize how underhanded and backstabbing and catty these women will become if the situation calls for it?

Men laugh loudly and drink vigorously and talk about war and violence as though they are nothing more than sport. The warriors hide show their battle scars and tell stories as though pain and suffering are all in good fun.

Newlywed women cling to the husbands that pretend they were not gazing at the love goddess, Freyja.

Even Herdis, this foolish, simple, beautiful, uncomplicated girl is lying through her teeth and telling him these grand stories. She insists that she is destined for something extraordinary, that she is more than a pretty face. That people underestimate her because she is beautiful.

Foolish, insolent girl. She just wants someone to believe in her because Fandral is busy wooing four other women.

He is her second choice, her fall back because she cannot have what she wants. And what maiden does not want to be wooed by Fandral? Who would choose him over Fandral?

…Who would choose him over Thor?

Deny it. Repress it. Fight it, push it down, hide it, suffocate it, do anything to keep the green eyed monster at bay.

He is tired, that is all. Tired and with such a sharp mind, anything that may alter the thought process turns it into something cutting.

Keep making excuses. Just deny it.

Loki does not know where any of this is coming from. A week ago, he and Thor were laughing in the dining hall, reminiscing over successful journeys and exciting adventures and today…No, it is only logical to feel this way. It is only logical to feel envious on occasion, who would not idolize Thor? Surely, Loki cannot be the only one. To want to be like his brother is completely normal, all of Asgard loves him and Loki has long since come to terms with the fact that they are separate but equal beings. Surely, when sorcery becomes as valuable to society as strength, Loki will have equal moments of triumph. .

Deep breath. Remember to breathe, a little air will slow the thoughts when they are running fast enough to burn up your mind.

"And truly, to take up such a position would be so thrilling. I've always told my father—" Right, she's still talking. "—more than a pretty face, so many underestimate me because I am beautiful but—"\ Oh no more of this. Loki cannot help himself. He stares at the monstrous looking jewels that are twined into her black hair and focuses on them. Imagines bats, consumes himself with the idea that they will turn to bats and sure enough that is what they become.

Herdis shrieks, loudly and slaps at her tight curls and for the first time in what must be an hour, Fandral actually looks over at her, but doesn't go running to her rescue. Surely, Fandral the dashing is far too busy entertaining many other lovely ladies of the court to go to the rescue of someone who has fallen out of his favor. He does, however, wince and look as though he feels sorry for her, which is far more than Loki is doing.

The god of mischief is smirking from ear to ear, unable to stop a few short bursts of laughter from coming out. He notices a few admonishing looks and sighs, holding his hands up in defense.

"I meant no harm. It was just a bit of fun." He tells Herdis in his most apologetic voice and throws a charming smile her way. She is still trembling, but with all eyes on her and the, knowledge that Loki can destroy her if he so chooses, she just laughs nervously and nods.

Once everyone looks away, she flees without another word.

"Are you not enjoying yourself, brother?" Loki turns, slowly to face his brother, who has approached him and now has a hand on his shoulder. The god of mischief gives him a mildly amused look.

"Not at all. Just livening things up a bit." He grins and Thor lets out one large, boisterous laugh before clapping Loki on the back. Loki laughs along and smiles up at his brother.

So foolish to be resentful. So wrong, so completely absurd. Thor is nothing but kind to him, nothing but charismatic and his intentions are good. He means no harm. How could Loki ever resent him? How could—

He has no more time to sit and mull over what is right and what is wrong, because Odin snatches the attention from everyone in the room, simply by moving up to the throne.

"Thank you all for coming." His voice is deep and wise, the kind that children of the realm wish their parents would tell them stories in and suddenly, Loki feels like the child who sat on his father's lap, listening to old war stories, again. "There is no greater joy than knowing that my son will be a loved king." Applause. A few loud cheers from Volstagg and Fandral. Loki smiles at his brother. What a glorious moment. How wonderful it must be to feel the way Thor feels now.

_How cruel it must be to know that you will never measure up._

Deny, choke, repress. Loki swallows roughly.

No, enough of this.

"My son is loved, yes. He is charismatic, he is brave, he is one of the mightiest warriors this realm has known. But he is capable of great destruction."

Silence. Loki arches an eyebrow and looks to read Thor's expression. Confused, perhaps a little wounded.

"He has the ability to make Asgard fly…or send it crashing to the ground. Under Thor's rule, there will be no grey area. There will be prosperity or poverty. But within each of us, is that same trait. Thor is the embodiment of what a citizen of Asgard is, and I believe, that given the opportunity, he will become all that we should be."

Everything a person ought to be. Loki takes a very short breath, knowing that if he is quick, no one will notice anything different. No one will notice what is biting at his insides.

"My son, my heir. So long have you been entrusted with great power. Now you will learn that with this power, comes great responsibility. You will learn, my son, and in time, you will become one of the greatest kings Asgard has ever known. My son. I could not have chosen a better king, or greater son."

Roaring applause, cheers, not just from the warriors and Thor looks so completely honored. Crowds are wild and ecstatic and friends rush to the god of thunder's side and the party goes on.

No one notices the way Loki crumbles at his father's final statement. No one notices the scathing, hurt look that touches his face for a millisecond. No one notices when he rushes out the door as fast as his body will allow him.

No one notices, that he does not return.


	3. Chapter 3

Third chapter. Apparently this fic is getting a lot of hits, so thank you to those of you who read and double thank you to those who review as well. Reviews are like crack, and I am a shameless addict.

Disclaimers apply

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><p>III.<p>

_Hunger- A strong or compelling desire or craving_

Their meeting is the object of pure chance, and she enters his life the only way she knows how.

Without shame. She offers no remorse or apology, simply smiles as she seizes his life and refuses to let go.

Loki is ashamed of his behavior. No, beyond ashamed of his behavior, even the silver-tongued god cannot conjure up the words to describe exactly how he regrets his behavior. Running out of the party, scowling at Thor, at his father, going off and sulking like a petulant child, letting the dark thoughts consume him. That is unacceptable, surely he has more self control than that.

Why? Why is this all coming out now? Why is rage seeping out of his pores and loneliness twisting his insides now? These things don't just start out of the blue.

The previous night was spent in a self-loathing fit. He is pathetic, father will always love Thor more, Loki will never be worth of the throne. All night, tossing and turning and wishing that his brain had a switch that he could flip on and off at will. Unfortunately, it does not and another night passed without sleep.

Now, all he wants is a quiet place. Some little sanctuary where he can crawl away to and hide in for as long as he wants. Some place where he can mull over these thoughts, decide each is illogical and foolish, and move on with his life.

Thankfully, he is allotted that. Perhaps it was because last night's party was on the tamer side, but the chaos in the palace seems to have declined since yesterday. All are either catching up on much needed sleep after nights of splendor, or have more important things to attend to.

Loki, on the other hand, has the freedom to do what he wants. The world is his oyster, and today, the oyster will be lurking in the library.

Immersing himself with knowledge has always been therapeutic to Loki. While some prefer to take their frustration out on targets and practice dummies, the god of mischief finds nothing more relaxing than pouring himself into a book of spells, delving into magic that he only knows in theory, practicing these tricks, learning, studying, memorizing until the world around him becomes an illusion.

He walks into the library and realizes instantly that something is off. Something is wrong. Something has been disrupted, his sanctuary has been infiltrated.

And then he sees her.

She is pressed up against a book shelf with some thick volume in her hand and Loki does not know her. She is not familiar in even the slightest bit, and yet she has already made herself comfortable in a place he thought only he took salvation in.

"A child should not be roaming the palace without a chaperone." He seethes and she looks up, both curious and offended.

The woman folds the book up into her hands and takes a long stride toward him.

"I am not much younger than you, god of mischief." A few more strides and she is right in front of him, looking at him as though he is a game she is eager to play.

Truly, she is not much younger than him. Maybe a year or two. Three if he is being generous, fortunately, it seems he hit a nail on the head. Either her age is her weakness and she will break down and flee soon, or she craves a challenge more than she should. She pulls the book to her chest and tilts her chin upward in a way that is meant to be sophisticated.

"I am not a child." Does she think that repeating herself will help prove a point? He arches an eyebrow and looks down at her. Who does she think he is? Clearly she knows who he is, but apparently, she has not taken the hint that he is all but demanding that she leave him be.

"That cannot be determined without proof." He notices that she is looking at him like he is a mystery that she must solve, a task that she must complete, a book that she must read. She looks at him with interest and curiosity and desire and the oddity of that is, she was looking at the book in that exact same manner.

Like she has a thirst for life and will not rest until it is quenches. Like she longs to drink the world in.

Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps the world is_ her _oyster, not his.

Perhaps, but all the cards are still in his hands.

"Then I will prove myself." He lifts an eyebrow and truly, he wants to scoff at how eager she is to do so, but her drive is…interesting. Yes, that is the word. It is a rarity, considering anyone who is able to make their way into the palace has all of the finer things in life handed to them on a silver platter. She is an oddity indeed.

He came here to unlock the mysteries of magic, but is instead unlocking a whole new kind of mystery.

Still, she her lack of subtlety and unadulterated boldness, coupled with the fact that she has interrupted his plans makes her nothing more than a mild irritant.

"Perhaps another day." He says, hoping to dismiss her.

"Why not today?" She lifts an eyebrow, and he can't help it, a little bit of laugher escapes from his lips.

Of course dismissing her is not going to work. Was it not apparent from the beginning that she is a stubborn creature? He does not have the patience to fight her off today. Perhaps he will not be able to distract himself with spells, but this argumentative girl might serve as an acceptable distraction.

"You are so eager to prove yourself, are you sure you are not a child?" He squints a bit, analyzing her and takes a step to round her, hoping to taunt her just a bit. So far, she has served to give an amusing reaction, perhaps she will continue to do so.

"Certain. You seem intent on circling your prey. Are you sure that you are not the god of vultures?" His next laugh is more of a snort.

"You find yourself quite amusing, don't you?"

"Absolutely."

He continues rounding her until he is back to facing her.

"Well, I suppose it's good that someone does."

She snorts and rolls her eyes.

"Clever." Her tone is all sarcasm, but this doesn't bother Loki.

"You foolish girl, were this really a battle of the wits, you'd have lost by now." He smirks. She seems to mull it over for a minute, like she is not sure whether or not she wants to keep the argument up or return to something more peaceful. After a minute, she seems to decide, because her sassy smirk slowly fades into a mildly amused smile.

"I'm Eira." She announces, shifting her stance into something a bit less defensive. She takes the book in one hand and drops it and her other arm to the side as she continues looking up at him. He doesn't bother introducing himself, she has made it clear that she knows who he is.

"That does not explain why you are here." He reminds her and she shrugs.

"My father is a member of your father's council. I'd love to follow in his footsteps, but unfortunately, accompanying him to the palace is the closest I can come to doing so." But he is only half-listening. His eyes caught hold of the title of her book and again, he is intrigued.

"And what makes sorcery so interesting to the daughter of a council member?" Seeming to have forgotten the book in her arm, she looks down at it and smiles, almost proudly.

"My mother was a brilliant sorceress. Before she passed, she wrote this." She holds the book up now, to give him a better look and he almost chuckles. Just because she has no sense of subtlety does not mean he is the same. He scoped the title out the second she didn't have her arms wrapped around it.

He knows the book, read it nearly fifteen years ago. Eira is exaggerating when she says that her mother was a brilliant sorceress. The woman was mediocre at best, but the text was an incredible help when it came to projecting multiples of oneself.

"I'm sorry for your loss." He says, casually. Surprisingly, she shrugs as though it is not a big deal.

"You'd be surprised at how ten years can heal pain."

And suddenly, he wonders. If ten years of coping can heal pain, than what can over twenty worth of resentment do to a person?

Is this where his bitterness is stemming from? Has he turned a blind eye to it all of these years? Is it only evident when it is being shoved in his face? Will he ever be able to fight past it if it truly has been eating away at his insides since he was a child?

The thought frightens him and he shoves it aside as quickly as he can. Eira seems to notice the slight shift in his face because she is arching an eyebrow and has set the tome down on a desk beside them.

"What troubles you?" She asks. He frowns.

"Nothing." He insists, even as the arch in her eyebrow heightens. Nevertheless, she backs down. Which, by the look on her face, seems like it must be quite an effort for her.

"Alright." She hesitates a moment, scoops the book up into her arms and looks like she is about to walk away, but then the hesitation fades away. "I didn't mean to pry, you know." And her tone is so sincere, it makes part of him sick, but somehow, the honesty actually holds some sort of appeal. He doesn't understand why until she explains it for him.

Still, he doesn't accept her apology, regardless of how heartfelt it is, he simply looks at her, and, in the least scathing tone possible says, "we can't all be open books."

She laughs for a moment, and it's quiet and more through her nose, but it isn't a snort by any means.

"You would see it that way. You are the god of mischief. That silver tongue of yours allows you to weave lies so intricate that they earn you a reputation. But this world we live in has enough secrets. These people we live with tell enough lies and keep so many things hidden. I reason, a little bit open honesty every now and then will do the world good." And on that note, she gathers her bearings, turns away from him and heads to the door, but not before pausing and turning back to him. "Have I proven myself?" She asks it with a smirk to let him know that she's joking. He only realizes that he was frowning when the corners of his lips flick upward.

"Perhaps. We'll save that decision for another day." He informs her. She rolls her eyes but beams at him before walking out.

Maybe this girl is right. Maybe all this realm needs is a bit more truth, maybe if Loki speaks and is heard, something will change.

The green eyed monster inside of him roars and instantly, cruel, sick words form in his head.

_You favored Thor all these years…no matter how much you claimed to love me_

_I love Thor more dearly than any, but you know how what he is. He's arrogant, he's reckless, he's dangerous! Is that what Asgard needs of its king?_

_I never wanted the throne, all I ever wanted was to be your equal!_

Loki swallows dryly and instantly decides against it. No, no Eira could not be right, not by a long shot. Destruction at its purest form is Loki's specialty, but saying these things? It would be more chaos than he could handle.

No, these things will surely go away if he continues to conceal them.


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you for the kind reviews and the best wishes. Keep them coming and in return, I'll keep these crazy updates coming. No, just kidding, I'm going to update like a fiend anyway, but some reviews would be nice.

Disclaimers

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><p>IV.<p>

_Lonely- Affected with, characterized by, or causing a depressing feeling of being alone. Lonesome._

All alone, there is no one to save you. You can hide, but the monsters will find you and when they do, they will tear you apart and feed on all that is good in your world. Give it time, even the greatest of men fall apart when there is no one there to hold them together.

Loki spends three days, immersed in a book of the most challenging spells he has ever laid eyes on, before leaving his room in search of Eira.

Stubbornness has kept him away for this long, but when this monster is eating away at him every chance it can get him alone, even he has to accept that a bit of company might do him some good.

He is surprised to find her on the archery range. Strange that the open book neglected to mention a passion for archery, because she is clearly not a novice. Not as skilled as the warriors of the realm, by far, but she seems to know what she's doing, and, more often than not, she hits her target.

He waits in the wings for a moment, watching her. Seeing Eira with such rapt attention is so very different from seeing her banter. She is excited, she is enthralled, and again, he gets that sensation that life is no more than wine in a goblet and she is the glutton who longs to drink until there is nothing left. She wants her fill so desperately that she can only focus on this one thing at a time. She doesn't see Loki replicate himself, once twice, she doesn't notice those replicas until they are right in front of her and she almost falls back in shock.

She pauses, breath catching in her throat as she looks over each replica, trying to tell which Loki is which. When her heart finally stops hammering in her chest, she takes a single second more to look them over, then sends arrows flying straight into their hearts.

"Please don't insult my intelligence, Loki. My mother wrote the book on producing multiples of yourself. Now, why don't you come out from hiding and we can have a real fight?" Loki finds himself chuckling at her before she even finishes her sentence and he steps forward.

"I'm not looking to pick a fight." He insists, and she spins around looking him dead on in the eye with that same hungry look.

"I don't believe you." She says after a moment's worth of analyzing him, and again, he laughs, this time, more with her than at her.

"And why is that?"

"I told you that the last time we met. Your silver tongue is extraordinary when it comes to weaving lies." She reminds him, taking one long stride forward as she does, never dropping her defenses or allowing the bow to fall too far away from her.

"You have no way to prove that theory of yours."

"I have no reason to need to." He scoffs a t her and shakes his head.

"Then I regret to inform you, your knack for the truth is getting you nowhere. I wasn't looking for a fight." He takes one more step in her direction as she cocks her head to the side, trying to decide if she should believe this or not.

"Perhaps not initially…But the prospect of it does interest you now, very much." Perhaps her one track mind seems to be good for something, when she pours herself into it, her observations seem to be reasonably accurate.

"Maybe a little." He smirks. "Tell me, Eira, do you have any interest in sorcery?" He lifts an eyebrow.

"Interest, yes. Talent, absolutely not."

"Then this won't even be fun." He says.

He zaps himself from in front of her to right behind her, and the second he does, he hurtles a knife at her. She is quick though, and manages to dodge it at the last second.

"What the—" But she doesn't even have time to finish her sentence. The knives that were gripped tightly in Loki's hands just a moment ago come flying at her now and again, she has to go out of her way to dodge them. She takes a step left, but the second she does, he teleports there. Before he can get his chance to attack again, she jumps and kicks him hard, with both legs, in the stomach.

Her back smacks against the stony ground, but now that he's faltered, she can wrap her mind around the situation. She quickly loads her bow and sends a stream of arrows his way, all of which he dodges, but one comes very close to hitting him, and if it weren't for a last minute teleportation out of there, he'd have received the same punishment his replicas did.

Eira hops to her feet again, this time loading quick enough so that he doesn't have time to teleport out. Instead, Loki sprints away from the attacks and slings a fistful of knives at her. The girl spins away as quickly as she can, but in her effort to dodge the attack, two of the five knives manage to wedge themselves into the pouch of arrows on her back.

The two stay stationary for a moment, eyes locked, hands both positioned to reach for their weapons if needed. And then, Loki breaks that stand still and teleports behind her. It is all she can do to turn around and hold her bow up as a shield while he sends some more knives in her direction.

Again, she dodges the bulk of the attack, but one slips through her bow before she has time to block it, and suddenly it has carved a nice mark on the side of her face.

She lets out a sharp cry in pain, rips the arrows from the back of her pouch and throws them at Loki with such a force. Unfortunately, this force has know precision in it, and the knives miss him by a long shot, but do manage to embed themselves into a tree on the far side of the quadrant, where he is unlikely to bother retrieving them from.

"Oh the choice between strength and accuracy." He clucks his tongue to taunt her as her appears behind her again. This time, she doesn't bother with weapons, instead, merely swings her arm around as hard and fast as she can and elbows him right in the nose. She hears a low cracking nose and hears him grunt this time.

He teleports back, keeping as much distance between them as possible, before he sends another handful of daggers at her, and in his effort to be quick, he manages to elicit a loud, painful, pop in his wrist.

Thankfully, it is not a wasted pain and she ends up receiving a knife to the knee. Fortunately for her, the dagger bounces off the bone in her knee. Another cry comes from her lips and this time, when he teleports in, he knocks her down.

He takes a step forward, smirking victoriously as he sets his foot gently down on her stomach. Before he has the chance to lean over and taunt her though, she snatches a stray arrow off of the ground, loads it into her bow and aims it directly at his face.

She holds it steady as he leans over her and for a moment, neither do anything, and then, once she actually has hope that she can continue fighting, he kicks her bow away and leans down even further over her.

"That was for the nose." He murmurs.

For a second, he holds himself steady, hoping to watch her squirm, but Eira looks up at him like she is merely exhilarated and that even a loss is something that she craves if it manes that she can take in a new experience. Finally, he finds himself less than amused by her reaction, takes his foot off of her, steps back and offers her a hand to help her up.

She considers it for a minute, and instead of grabbing his hand, she grabs his wrist and pulls herself up with it. When he looks at her with an eyebrow lifted, she simply shrugs.

"I'd rather risk looking like an idiot than being dropped again." She says, arching her back in an attempt to stretch. It cracks loudly and she groans, rolling her neck back all the while. "I'm sorry about your nose, by the way." She looks at him with that sincere look in her eyes again, and yet again, it makes him both nauseated and pleased. At least she is consistent.

"I heal quickly. I'm sorry about your face." She turns to him, looking shocked and offended and concerned, but at the same time, the smile playing at the corners of her lips tells him that she knows he didn't mean it the way she is taking it. She bursts out laughing, and of course, but he does offer her the smallest of smiles as he readjusts the position of his nose.

He repositions until it falls back into place and she laughs while she cleans the blood off of her face and when they are done tending to their injuries, she gives him a smile that isn't laced in sarcasm, isn't amused, isn't anything but pleased.

He squirms a bit now and looks away from her and once again, finds himself surprised by how easily she takes his rejection. She shrugs, continues smiling and begins walking around the arena, gathering up the arrows that she discharged in their fight.

"So, did that tame your curiosity?" She asks and he looks over to where she is hunched down, looking at one particularly mangled arrow.

"For the time being. I was right though, it wasn't exactly a fair fight." She seems to acknowledge this.

"I did the best I could and broke the god of mischief's nose. My ego's not too sore."

"You lost." He observes. She sighs and turns around to look at him with a look that sort of says "yes, I did and I still don't understand why you feel a need to bring that up."

"Life isn't fun if we only ever win."

He wants to tell her, that life is just short of morose when one spends their days fighting a losing battle, but manages to restrain himself, more for his sake than hers.

Again, that whole issue with admitting to something making it true.

And more than anything, he does not want to think of himself as fighting a losing battle with Thor and his father, because he knows there will be no chance for the underdog to crawl away.

"So, if you didn't come here to fight, what did you want?" She asks, now retying the laces of her boots, trying to clean up the mess that the battle left, but still wearing her scars with pride.

Loki isn't sure how to phrase it, he doesn't need Eira's ego soaring through the roof and he certainly does not want to admit the real reason he fled from his chambers.

"You are not a sorceress, you couldn't understand." He tells her. She lifts an eyebrow and laughs this light hearted little laugh that does not fit what he is feeling at all.

"Try me." Always looking for a challenge. Alright, fine, he will give her one, let her decipher this.

"Being cooped up with books of spells for days upon end has a way of turning ones thoughts against oneself. I was looking for a distraction."

"So you were lonely?" He stiffens. Perhaps her ability to discover the truth is far more advanced than he originally perceived. He scowls at her.

"There is a difference between being lonely and being alone."

"I know. And you were lonely." He frowns at her and looks at her like she is nothing more than a foolish child, making foolish assumptions, and again, she takes his rejection so well. She doesn't falter, doesn't flinch, doesn't apologize.

Loki stands there for a moment, frowning all the while, and although he takes off very quickly after, he does nothing to argue against her.


	5. Chapter 5

So tell me, how do you all feel about Eira? Is she acceptable? Does she irritate you to no end? What sort of juice do you think she needs to make her spectacular? I love hearing feedback, just don't be a bitch, cool?

Disclaimers apply.

* * *

><p>V.<p>

_Mock- To attack or treat with ridicule, contempt or derision_

They kick you when you're down, because you don't have a chance to get up. They beat you down until you are bloody and bruised and broken and then they laugh at how pathetic you are. And then, when you finally bring yourself up on one elbow, they throw you down again twice as hard. All your life long, this doesn't stop, it doesn't cease, it doesn't even hesitate. They don't stop, even when they see the mess they've left you in.

Loki has finally readjusted and fully healed his nose, when Thor barges into his room without even knocking. This isn't uncommon for the god of thunder. He strikes hard and is shameless in the same way that Eira is, but instead of observing that he has done wrong and shrugging it off as a life experience, Thor does not even notice that Loki has, for the most part, been aiming to keep to himself for the rest of the day.

"Brother! How are you on this splendid day?" Thor's voice booms through the room and Loki gives him a weary smile. He means well, truly he does, and Loki supposes an attempt at being good is all that really matters.

"I'm quite well Thor, thank you very much." He says, looking up from the book that he'd only opened a few minutes ago. Well, whatever this is, Loki knows the book will have to wait. When Thor barges in like this, usually he is planning some grand adventure, and if Loki doesn't go along, there is a good chance that Lady Sif and the Warriors Three will end up dead or severely injured because of Thor's reckless tendencies.

His foolish, pathetic, stupid, disgusting—

No. His brother means well. That is all that matters. Yes, he is reckless and arrogant, but those are merely synonyms for brave and confident, right?

"Now, you look like you are craving adventure. Do tell me, Thor, what do you have planned today? A journey to Alfheim? Perhaps a trip to Vanaheim?" He lifts an eyebrow and, to his dismay, a wide, proud, confident smirk spreads from across Thor's lips and soon, that look has completely coated his features.

"Today, we fight Jarl."

To an outsider, this might seem fine. A bit of sparring never hurt anyone. But Loki knows better than that. Loki knows exactly what Thor is saying, so it does not surprise the god of thunder, when his younger brother's face turns as white as death.

"Thor, please, take a second to think. You cannot fight the son of Rig!" He insists. Thor seems to think he can though, for he barks out a laugh.

"And why not? Jarl acts as though he was the first of the warriors. He has mocked us before now and you know it. Why not give him a good once over? Damage his spirits a bit?" Thor grins as he says this and Loki sighs. Yes, Jarl is a special brand of arrogant that makes Thor seem like the god of humility, and yes, he has mocked them before in the past, and yes, Loki would, occasionally like to stick a dagger in his jugular, but Thor is being foolish. Honestly, this is complete madness.

"Brother, you cannot do this—"

"Are you going to stop me?" Loki's face falls and he stares at Thor. Oh he is done with this, he has no patience for those who ache for a challenge so much they do not use their brains before acting.

Besides, Loki knows Thor, he knows that once his brother has made up his mind, there is no room for negotiation. Even if it will mean saving the realm from having to hear about this battle for centuries to come.

"No…" He admits and Thor beams.

"Then you shall join me!" Oh no, he did not sign up for this.

"No, I—"

"Nonsense, we could use you in this fight. Jarl will have all of his best men with him."

"Thor, honestly, I cannot—"

"You will let your own brother down?" Thor is not trying to manipulate him, he is neither intelligent nor subtle enough for that sort of art. The words are coming out and they don't even sound eloquent, and yet, somehow, Thor has a tendency to get what he wants. His personality doesn't ask people to give something to him, it makes them _want _to give it all away. He is not requesting, only receiving. He is simple, has no ambition, no goals, just wants a good fight, and in return, he is handed a kingdom.

Loki's insides twist. Deny, repress, push away.

A good brother would not let his brother down.

"Alright, fine, I will join you."

Jarl is a member of Asgard's higher class. He does not have the status of a royal, but, for the most part, keeps company with them. He spends a plentiful amount of time in the palace, so, it is no surprise to see him in one of the palaces training rooms, sparring with a few of his closest friends. The fact that laughter and grunting can be heard from the far side of the hall, only adds to their conspicuousness.

Typically when the door to a training room is closed, one knows to just pass by it and allow the one training to finish up their task before they come to bother them.

Thor does not abide by this standard.

He barges in, again, shamelessly with Sif and Volstagg right behind him, Fandral and Hogun following them and Loki taking up the rear.

Jarl and his men turn instantly to face the group and Jarl's mouth pulls into a scowl. He is large, intimidating to many, but Loki can tell instantly that he is strong in all of the ways that Jarl is weak. If only Thor wasn't looking to fight him, Loki clearly has the speed advantage and would certainly be able to end him with a few impressive spells.

"What do we have here? A couple of ladies and their queen?" Jarl thinks he is quite clever, but Loki is bored after the first syllable leaves this mans mouth.

"Jarl, for long you have dishonored my family and friends. I am here to end this."

Loki rolls his wrist gently in his hand, hearing another soft popping noise from it and winces. Why is he here? Why is he doing this? He is neither impulsive nor foolish, and yet, he is acting as though he is. He hasn't even recovered from the previous fight, and although he certainly won, it was not without repercussion. His arm is sore, his wrist is tender and if anyone lands a blow near his face, his nose is not going to recover so quickly.

This is completely idiotic, and now he will be forced to listen to Thor taunt Jarl. Perhaps, if the two were both of quicker wit, it would be interesting to watch the exchange. Instead, it will be no more interesting than watching two tanks go at each other. If only there were a more efficient way to go about this.

Loki pauses, and then, when the thoughts hit him like a bolt of lightning, he steps forward, closer to Thor, to whisper into his ear.

"Thor, we should not be here." He has found that the best and sometimes, the only way, to get Thor to do something, is by telling him to do the opposite. If he tries to reel the god of thunder in, he will only dive faster into battle. "You should not be picking battles when Asgard is beginning to look to you as a king." Alright, that last part, he genuinely means that, in his position of power, Thor needs to act more responsibly, actually, he really wants to argue this point, but he has said enough to rouse Thor's need to for battle.

"Enough!" He hisses at his brother.

"No, Odinson, listen to your little brother. Back down, or you will not recover from what I will do." He growls.

"It is you, Jarl, who will not recover." Thor snaps, and in that second, he charges.

Loki quickly masks his smirk. How easy. This will all be over shortly.

The second that Thor's hammer makes contact with Jarl's sword, Jarl's men charge into battle. All aim to attack Thor and break him away from their leader, but thankfully for the god of thunder, Loki is not the only one with a speed advantage.

Fandral and Hogun bolt forward, Fandral with his sword out, Hogun with his mace. Hogun strikes hard and fast and as soon as he does, one of Jarl's men gets to experience the displeasure of a broken jaw. He cries out and falls back. From behind him, Sif delivers a swift kick to his back and the man doubles over and falls to the ground.

Fandral and his opponent are locked in combat. Their blades clang loudly, but if the grin on Fandral's face means anything, then he is only stringing this man along. Playing with his food before devouring it, in a sense.

If he keeps that up, Loki will intercede and end that fight as quickly as possible.

Hogun and Sif are tag teaming the biggest guy in Jarl's group and Volstagg is faring quite well in the fight against his opponent, so that just leaves Loki…

With some axe wielding idiot.

He rolls his shoulder back and lets a cold mask cover his expression while he turns and faces the man. He is larger than Loki, but shorter by several inches, and looks like he will pack more of a punch if he can get close to the person.

Unfortunately for him, he will never be able to catch the god of mischief.

Loki teleports quickly behind him and sends a fistful of knives aimed directly at him. The man doesn't seem to catch this quickly enough, the second that he does realize where Loki has gone is the second that the knives smash into him, and if it weren't for the armor, he would not be faring well. Still, the force of Loki's throw has done quite a bit of damage, as well as royally ticked this guy off.

He lunges for the prince, swinging the axe at full force, but Loki quickly replicates himself around the man. The clones have stunned him, clearly, he has not seen the god of mischief fight before. He swings at the replicas, allowing the real Loki time to slip away.

By time the clones are gone, Loki has another handful of daggers and is prepared to throw them , but by some trick of fate, this man swings around and sends the back of the axe right into the shoulder of Loki's throwing arm.

The god chokes on a howl of pain and the man with the axe smirks. A loud cackle pours out of his mouth and he swings again. This time, Loki only dodges it with an incredibly straining backbend.

This is absurd, if it weren't for Eira, he'd be more than capable right now, he'd be able to take this oaf down with no more than a few parlor tricks.

Somehow, the man lands another blow to his shoulder and Loki is fifty percent sure it is dislocated.

Another muffled grunt of pain and Loki has lost his inhibitions. He sends handful after handful of knives at this man, as fast as he can without doing any more damage to his shoulder, and in his fury, he manages to land a few good blows, but still hasn't completely worn this man down.

He focuses on magic now, shrouding him in smoke and sending knife attacks at him while he struggles to regain his vision. One, two, three knives, one lands in his arm, another in his shoulder, the final pierces straight through his hand. Loki doesn't even realize how carried away he is getting until he hears a violent cry erupt from the man.

The smoke is almost faded out by now and although the man is coughing, and bleeding and wounded, he still manages to charge at Loki. The god of mischief knows, very well, that things have gotten personal, this blow will not be merciful, so, in one last ditch effort to end this mans efforts, he jumps and lands a kick right in the mans chest. He flies back and hits one wall, and with the strength of Loki's kick, the prince is sent straight into the opposite wall.

His head smacks against it and makes a loud cracking noise. He winces and sucks in a sharp breath, peeking one eye open to get a good look at his opponent. The man struggles to get back up once, twice, and then, eventually gives up, sinking back against the wall, pinching his eyes shut in defeat.

Loki snorts and slowly, a sly grin spreads across his face. Pathetic fool to think that he would stand a chance against the god of mischief.

It is then, when he is sure his enemy is down that Loki can take the time to assess his own injuries. His wrist is sorer than ever, somewhere along the line he must have completely lost any sense of pain, because the thing is killing him right now. His back and head are still writhing from the impact of being smashed into a wall, and then, of course, there is his shoulder. It is almost definitely dislocated, but fortunately, like his nose, the fact that it was easy to move out of place, means that it will be easy to fix.

Loki winces as he sits up with his fingers laced together. He locks his fingers around his knee and then reclines until—with a loud grunt on his part—until he feels the shoulder slide back into place.

Yes the process is exactly as painful as it sounds. He hisses through his teeth once it is back in, and he rolls it several times, keeping one hand firmly planted so that it does not slip back out due to carelessness.

Of course, in that moment, while he is still coping with the pain and has still not gotten up, the others have just finished their fights. Not without minor injuries of course, but being that Loki was already thoroughly exhausted before the battle, he is banged up a little more. Fandral has an arm around Sif, looking both to congratulate her and to steady himself off. Said female warrior has a large, violent, red gash on her arm, but of course, it is not too deep. Volstagg has, what looks to be the beginning of a large bruise blossoming on his face, and Thor, who obviously has gotten too worked up in the fight, has worn himself down, however, he is smiling bright as the day and looks to be carrying his injuries quite flawlessly. Overall, Hogun is the least banged up of the group.

Loki doesn't get the time to stand up before Fandral comes up with something that he thinks is clever to say.

"Has your little game of tricks failed you, Loki? Or was he not impressed by you pulling a rabbit from a hat?" Volstagg laughs loudly and although Sif rolls her eyes, she is smirking in amusement. Thor chuckles, because he has said similar things to the god himself, he, however, is Loki's brother, taunting from him is much different than taunting from Fandral of all people.

Before Loki has the chance to spew venom in his direction, Volstagg let's another "laugh worthy" comment out , despite the fact that Jarl is shouting after them. The group erupts into laughter again, and all Loki can manage to do is stare after them while they walk out.

One mistake. One tiny error. No, not even an error, because Loki is the victor. Were Thor to make even a large mistake, he would not have been blamed, people would have written it off as no one being perfect, it would have been excused, even if it cost him the battle. Especially if it cost him the battle, oh how they would love him to be a poor, sick, wounded animal for them to care for, how those pathetic fools would have eaten it up and then gone out of their way to restore his dignity.

But for him, even the slightest of miscalculations are blown out of proportion. He can do no right, and even when he does, it is written off and he is mocked for being more intelligent and gifted than the others. They've always been jealous of his ability with sorcery, he thinks. Why else would they criticize him, for something that he is skilled at and they have never even attempted to master?

Pathetic, disgusting, worthless, cruel, imbiciles, kicking him when he's down, laughing at him when he is correct, taunting him when they cannot even tie their own shoes without help.

He doesn't chase after them when he finally chooses to stand up and leave the room (after of course, making all of the training equipment explode in what he thinks is an impressive little trick).

Instead, he walks back to his chambers, slowly. He lets it all sink in, he lets it all twist and turn inside of him. The green eyed monster roars with a hunger for rage.

And this time Loki does not shove him back down.

This time, Loki let's the monster feed.


	6. Chapter 6

VI.

_Taboo- Proscribed by society as improper or unacceptable._

Dip your feet in, it doesn't hurt. Just try it. See? It's nice, isn't it? This darkness, it is not like light at all. Light is harsh. It burns and cuts. It stings and exposes. It is cold and unfeeling. But darkness? It soothes, and it mends and it heals. It kisses away the pain, wraps you up tightly and swears that it will hold you until you stop aching. You're not sure if the pain ever stops or if the sweetness of the touch just makes you forget, but you do not need to know.

Darkness is not unkind, see? It is not as wicked as the others make it out to be. They only fear it, because they do not understand it, and you always fear what you don't understand.

So go ahead, just have one little taste. One little sip. Put your feet in once.

And then discover how impossible it is to turn back.

Loki makes no attempt to leave his chambers after that fight with Jarl. He makes no attempt at human contact. He does not even know if Eira is in the palace anymore, and even if she were, he knows he would not want to see her. Her disgusting honesty would make him physically ill. He does not know if Thor has gone off Helnheim and gotten himself killed. Although the thunder god's blatant disregard for anything intelligent, makes him feel as though that is possible. He does not know if his parents are searching for him, or if the Warriors have come to offer him a much deserved apology, and to be quite frank, he does not care.

Always kicking him when he's down, throwing insult after insult at him and then going off to celebrate with Meade and wine. In this moment, he cannot think of anything that he hates more. Pathetic, squabbling fools. He will show them. They will all see in time just how powerful he is, just how much greater than them he is.

He wants to be invisible. Wants it so much it almost hurts. And that exact same time, all he wants is to be seen and heard and for once in his life, appreciated.

He clenches and unclenches his fist once before slamming the book in front of him shut.

This is useless. More simple, basic tricks. Tricks that he could build on, certainly, but nothing interesting, nothing of great importance, nothing that will allow him to prove himself.

How is he expected to measure up to Thor when everyone around him thinks that the only thing he can do is a simple trick?

He stands up, stretches, rolls his shoulder back. It has been healed, as has his nose, but it is beyond sore. If he does any more than simple tasks with it, it is going to fall back out of place, he is certain of that.

There has to be something that he can do, something beyond this. No more shape shifting, no more replicating. Something real, something with substance. Something that he can use to stir up some real chaos and prove that he is not to be trifled with.

The prospect of the library is tempting, considering Odin's council is not meeting today, so the chances of running into Eira are slim to none, but there is still the issue of being seen. If he has to sit through small talk with Thor, if he has to sit there and pretend that he does not feel stricken with betrayal and envy, he will lose his mind.

Some risks need to be taken.

He slips out of his chambers quickly and silently. His boots do not make noise as they slide across the ground. He wonders if even the keenest of soldiers would be able to catch him if he did not want to and then grins slyly when he realizes they would not. Even a hummingbird could not catch Loki at work.

He is in the library within minutes, and once again, the place is back to the way it should be. Everything is perfectly in its place, save for Eira's mother's book, which is still missing from its spot on the shelf. At least that is the only thing. At least his sanctuary belongs to him once again.

He flees to the back of the room, pouring through several tomes and reshelving most of them instantly. "Sorcery for Beginners", "The Art of Shape Shifting", "Projection: A Sorcerers Guide to Being In Two Places At Once". He's read all of them before, some multiple time and has mastered everything they have to offer. Some hold his interest for a second longer, before he realizes that he learned the tricks in them without even being taught. He searches shelf after shelf, leaving no book untouched and alas, there is nothing.

Has he already learned all there is?

Certainly not. Certainly there must be more for him to discover, something new to sink his teeth into. If he has hit a wall, if this truly is all there is to be found, then what was the point of mastering such a useless craft?

Loki slams a book into place harder than it needs to be and, just like that, a brand new world opens up in front of him.

Shoving this book in must have triggered something. He knows that there are secret passages in the castle, but had figured he'd already discovered them all.

Apparently not.

The shelf turns forty five degrees and then stops. Like a door opening. It is dark up ahead and the god of mischief has no idea where this place might lead him, but a hunger for knowledge gets the best of him. Surely, there is nothing lurking in the palace that he would not be able to handle.

He strides forward, and this time, when he does, his foot falls make noise. The place is dark and dank and each of his actions cause the faintest of echoes. This place has the feel of a cave to it.

Lonely, desolate, sealed away in the palace, never to be seen by the outside world, not that anyone has ever bothered to search for it.

Loki feels he can relate. His face twists into a nasty scowl as he conjures up a swirling ball of light in his hand. It is dim, but at least now, he can see a few feet in front of him.

He looks around this hollowed out space and realizes that it is not a cave. Books line the walls and instantly, Loki's interest is piqued. And that is a rare feat indeed.

He takes another step in before flashing the light on the bindings of these volumes. Most of them are only bound by some sort of buckle, they look to be diaries perhaps. Loki pulls one from its place on the shelf and only reads a paragraph before his eyes widen. So this is where they are kept.

These are the diaries of the mad.

Strange, Loki thought that all of the work by Kirk the mad had been burned shortly after the man died, but these all appear to be original copies. He replaces the current book with another, a graphic piece describing the tortures endured in the realm of the dead. Then another detailing the affair between a Asgarding man and his Frost Giant mistress. And then, finally, one that he thinks might be the most important work of his time.

The complete discoveries by the sorcerer Galar the strange.

Loki's eyes widen as he runs through the pages, taking in as much as he can. Little by little.

Galar was mad, albeit a genius. He took groundbreaking steps in sorcery, pushed the limits, stirred up so much controversy with his actions that he was imprisoned for treason, when a guard assumed that he planned on murdering the king. No one could deny that Galar's work was short of miraculous, but he was dangerous and his sorcery was considered too. All that remained of him was the legend of a man and the vague mentioning of the dark magic that he attempted. Until now.

A slow grin spreads across Loki's face, moving out until it nearly stretches from ear to ear, his eyes burn with a hungry curiosity as he pours through the book. Mentions of necromancy, a struggle to achieve immortality, the discovery of light and dark manipulation. Galar was a genius. The man laid down the foundations for everything Loki know today and then some that he never would have learned were it not for this book.

He turns another page, wondering which of these have been tested, what has been altered that stems from some of these theories, what would create the most chaos, what would—

And then he finds it. Something that would destroy Agard, something that could completely unravel it. Something that would create chaos to the point of extinction.

"It couldn't be…" His breath is barely above a whisper, but perhaps speaking aloud will make this real.

But it cannot be real, surely someone before him would have discovered it if it were.

But sure enough, the book goes on. Loki touches the page as though it is something to be revered, because truly it was. This is no mere theory, this is a reality. There is no other way Galar would have been able to write this sort of detail. Loki's lips part as he continues reading and the interest builds.

How can such a spell exist? How can this sort of brilliance be possible? To discover this and not let Heimdall in on anything must have taken so much effort. Loki's fingers brush the page as he reads. Ways to travel in and out of Asgard without use of the bifrost. Such a thing should not be possible, but the tiny pictures in the margins are more believable than even the most expertly painted portraits.

This is the sort of thing that Loki needs to prove himself. With this knowledge, with this book, he will be invincible.

He rereads the page on traveling without use of the bifrost over and over again, taking in the tiny, quick scrawl, memorizing each word, analyzing each detail. With this he could be unstoppable.

First, he must try this, he must test this and be certain that it is possible.

Then, the only question will be how to use it.

Loki fold the book shut and takes it with him as he exits the vault and slides it shut.

No one must learn of this, that much is clear to him. If anyone were to discover that this book was in existence, it would be the end of him. He will not crash to a dead end and this book will make that a reality. This book will help him prove himself. This book will make certain that he shows the world the true power of the god of mischief.

And show them, he will.

How sweet the chaos will taste.


	7. Chapter 7

So now I've decided I just don't care if you like Eira or not. I do. So yeah.

Look at me being immature, isn't it adorable?

Anyhow, yep more chapters, and reviews make me happy!

Disclaimers apply, as per usual

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><p>VII.<p>

_Motive- Something that cause a person to act a certain way, do a certain thing, etc.; incentive_

There is always a reason behind something. Always a curious little tick that makes people act the way they do. You know very well how cruel motives are and how the second you think you can trust someone, their motivations become clear and you regret ever knowing them. They are poison in your veins and you cannot get them out. You twist, you turn, you writhe to escape their memory and you can't.

They destroy you, you look around every corner, waiting for something wicked to pop out and cut into you. Because you know it will happen. Even if it takes years, there will always be a backlash.

Everyone has an incentive and no one can be trusted.

He thinks he has just about done it.

He whispers a few words, holds his breath, finishes the incantation and then, like some sort of miracle, _there_ it is.

Right in front of him.

A portal.

He can clearly see Midgard right in front of him, peaking through the hole he has created in the worlds, that he has ripped through space and time. It is in the middle of nowhere, not a soul passes by, all that Loki sees is a giant body of water and the inkling of a shoreline in a distance, but this is most certainly not Asgard.

He has done it. Perhaps for the first time since Galar himself, Loki has opened the realm to something that could save or destroy it. That sort of power in his hands is…_intoxicating._

He sucks in a breath that only serves to boost this buzz that he is riding on.

It is his, the world is his. He takes a step forward, looking to enter when a sharp knock on his door reminds him of the world around him.

He blinks and closes his hand into a fist that closes the portal.

How long has he been enraptured in this world that magic has put him in? He has the vaguest inkling, he knows that he hasn't slept in four days, but surely that is not all the time he has spent on it.

The knock sounds off again and Loki slams the book shut, stores it beneath his bed and walks over to the door. Whoever this is, they're going to be in for it. Just as he was making a groundbreaking discovery, they come to interrupt him.

It is only a servant, and for disrupting him, they get a good chewing out and a fear of the god of mischief instilled in them, but even after that, Loki's concentration has been broken. Shattered, the ends are frayed and there is no way to reconnect to them, not now. Stupid, pathetic idiot. At least he knows tomorrow no one will be disturbing him.

In his distraction, he takes a walk around the palace, walking just loud enough to hear the light patter of his own boots. If he focuses on the sound, perhaps he will be less distracted by how close he was to achieving his goals.

No such luck.

He rounds the corner, turning to where the meeting room in the palace is. He should not be surprised to see Eira standing outside of it, but he is. Surely, there are still a few more weeks before Odin's council meets next? He raises an eyebrow at her and although she looks irritated beyond compare, she gives him a tense smile.

"You look exhausted." She observes. He rolls his eyes.

"You don't look much better yourself. I've been busy." He says shortly. Yes, their last two meetings have been decent enough, despite making him a new level of uncomfortable, but success was close enough to taste and that is something that drives him up a wall. That, and he still hasn't decided whether or not she worth his time.

"So I've heard. You do realize how long you've been hidden away, don't you?" She asks, cocking her head to the side. Loki pauses because he does not know for sure, but he doesn't want her to know that. He swallows and her smile becomes amused. "It's been a month since we've last spoken." His eyes widen. A month? No. Not possible. That would mean he's been alone with this book for three and a half weeks. Yes, these spells are complex and intricate, but surely it has not taken that long for him to learn them. She's lying. He looks into her eyes, knowing that he will be able to pick out the lies, but sees none in them. Just that same hunger as before. He falters, but quickly covers it by frowning at her. "Herdis seems intent on telling any that will listen, that you are mad." Herdis? Oh, of course, the girl that Fandral brought to that party, what seems to be eons ago. Loki scoffs.

"That is because she is simple minded and thinks that even the faintest cruelties are clever and interesting." Eira laughs aloud, and shakes her head.

"It seems you have wounded her ego, she is looking to attempt revenge. But one might begin to wonder, what with you being cooped up in here for so long." She says, to which he lifts an eyebrow.

"Do you think I've gone mad, Eira?" He is not really questioning her, her opinions aren't of importance to him. She pauses, likely to think about it, and he appreciates that she isn't just patronizing him and telling him no. It is such an oddity, but a welcome one, he supposes.

"I don't think so. But something surely is bothering you." He has to stop himself from flinching at how spot on she is. Observant and blunt are a lethal combination, and of course, she is both of those things. He loathes her for that. His thoughts are private, what is going on inside should stay with him, and although she can only get a vague idea of what is going on inside, it still makes him feel weak. Vulnerable. He doesn't like it. She doesn't comment for a while afterward. Perhaps she expects him to answer her observation or open up to her in some way, but she is foolish if she truly believes that will happen. Finally, she leaves the subject and addresses another. "The council seems intent on keeping me out." Opening up about herself will not get him to open up, and this fact is not interesting in the least.

"There are no open positions, you are wasting your time."

"I can rub shoulders with the council before the meetings, I can consort with your brother and father afterward, just to plant the seed of an idea in their head. I can mention to Thor whenever I see him how flawed I feel this place is and how I would to everything I can to fix it, were I on the council." She insists and Loki snorts.

"You have no skills in subtlety do you? You coming right out and saying that will make my brother the most uncomfortable he has ever been." She chuckles a bit at this and shakes her head.

"Sometimes that's what people need to get pushed in the right direction. Haven't you ever been so uncomfortable with something someone said, that you will go t o any lengths to prove them wrong?" Her palms twitch eagerly while she speaks, and he gets the sense that she is having a hard time not being active that very moment, not throwing the doors to the meeting room open and proposing all of the ideas she has surely concocted to them right there and then.

Loki can relate to what she's saying though, in fact, it is so much so that he begins to twitch in anticipation. If he could get back to his work he could prove to these idiots that he is capable of something far greater than they would ever imagine, he wouldn't be taunted, he wouldn't be scoffed at, he wouldn't be ridiculed. He looks over at Eira and suddenly that hunger in her eyes makes so much more sense, but what is she trying to prove?

Loki's curiosity begs him to ask, but his desire for mystery and his pride prevent him from doing so. He will figure it out on his own, he reasons.

He realizes that he has not answered her question and nods the slightest bit at her.

"I suppose I understand what you're saying." But he leaves it at that, unable to concoct something better to say. He would be content standing beside her in silence, mulling over her actions, trying to discover what drives her, but apparently, Eira is not content with silence.

"Your nose is healing up pretty well."

He has completely forgotten about that until now, but when she brings it up, he touches his nose gingerly, expecting the smallest bit of pain, and feeling none. Perhaps his ability to heal has gotten better.

"How's your face doing?" He smirks a little, remembering exactly how comical she found that last comment he made regarding it, and, unsurprisingly, she laughs again.

"Extraordinary, now that I don't have knives coming at me." She smirks at him before her smirk fades into a smile so genuine and honest it makes him itch.

No one can really be that open, can they? How do other people handle this girl, do they twitch while she speaks? Does she make anyone else's skin crawl on a regular basis? He looks her over, trying to find some disgusting lie that she has attempted to conceal, some truth that she is storing away until she can use it against him, but he finds nothing. He keeps trying but when no progress is made, he decides to use her own blunt, shamelessness against her.

"Tell me, Eira, what is your motivation here?" He asks, which takes her aback. She lifts an eyebrow and cocks her head to the side, and this time, she truly is looking at him as though he is mad.

"Excuse me?"

"What motivates you to call upon me whenever you get the chance?" Never mind that he was the one who stumbled upon her on the last two occasions. "What drives you actions?" She doesn't seem to understand what he's getting at, if her expression means anything.

"I'm not sure what you're—"

"What are you using me for, Eira? What brings you back, what do you want with me?" He snaps and her eyes widen. She blinks in a way that might be comical were he not so fed with rage. The desire to destroy within him is so strong, he is almost unable to control it. She hesitates and moves to set a hand on his arm but he tears away before she can get the chance. She pulls her hand back and sets it at her side. She takes rejection so well, but her expression is so hurt. Is she really just upset that he is questioning her honesty. Is that really the most important thing in this girl's life?

"Please don't think so low of me as to think I am using you. I'm not here to reach a goal or to break you, if I were, you would know it. I swear I have been nothing but honest with you." She argues back and that only seems to fuel the flames.

"Then you are here to steal information from me." He insists.

"No. Just because I am honest with you, does not mean that I expect you to be the same with me. I would never ask you to step outside what you are comfortable with, I would never ask that of anyone. Just because I do, does not mean that other people desire to live the same way. I live my life the way I want to, Loki, I am content that you do the same with yours." She uses that same, argumentative tone, but this time, there is nothing left to feed, he turns away, angrily. She is wrong if she thinks she isn't breaking him from his comfort zone. She is foolish, she is—

"I find you interesting, that is all. Your intellect is astounding, you're not the cardboard cut out of a person that I am used to. Is interest an acceptable motive for you?" She sounds so exasperated as she speaks, truly, her patience is awful. He turns back to her, looking right into her eyes, hoping that he can make her squirm or twinge with discomfort, but she stands there, as strong and unmoving as a mountain.

"Interest…" He tries the word out and it leaves a strange taste in his mouth. "Then why me? Why not Thor, or Lady Sif? They are just as impressive." Not in the same aspect, but they are both admirable, he supposes.

"Because despite the fact that you are a liar, you are open about it. At least you admit that you lie, no one ever knows when you are, but they are sure that you do it, and that is more than anyone else does. They hide and conceal things and then are displeased when someone else lies and that sort of hypocrisy makes me sick. You are flawed, and with that look you're giving me, you know that everyone else is as well." He takes in what she is saying, sifts through it, but before he gets the chance to counter, she speaks again. "Do not try to twist my words." She warns quickly.

"It's not twisting them if you are discovering the true meaning behind them." He reminds her and this time, he gets to watch as she flinches, although it looks more like she has been stricken than he is uncovering things she doesn't wish for him to know.

"I have not lied to you once."

"And how would I know that."

"Do you honestly believe that one who is so skilled at lying and observing can watch someone skew the truth and not realize it?" She snaps. He frowns as he looks at her. She brings up an excellent point but there is still something inside of Loki that wants to argue with her and fight and do anything to keep her away at all costs, although he doesn't know for sure what it is. She is an annoyance, certainly, but is not uneducated, is not naïve, is not without drive. True, he has never been particularly friendly with most people, but he should at least manage to be civil with Eira. Logic tells hi to be civil but every muscle in his body aches to ruin her. It takes every ounce of him to stop from saying something cutting and destructive, because if he relies solely on instinct, than he is no better than the idiotic warriors that fill the palace.

He tenses up and looks away from her, making sure to keep defeat off of his face.

"Perhaps you are right. But what will you gain from this?"

"You think I will gain something?" She lifts an eyebrow. She looks a little irritated with him, to be honest, like she is wondering if she's wasting her time putting effort in with him.

"People rarely do things without the possibility of obtaining something. So what are you looking for? Status? A lover? A way into my father's council?" He spits all of those words like venom at her. She sighs.

"A friend." Friend. How completely obvious. How incredibly predictable. He is so taken aback by the utter purity of her motives. If she is being honest, then she truly is an open book. There are no lines to read between, no hidden meanings in her words, just actions that carry her for miles. He shakes his head, still avoiding looking her in the eye.

"A friend?"

"Why not?" She is uncomplicated. There is no mystery, there is nothing to keep him guessing, there are no secrets to uncover. How can anyone be so upfront? He wants to ask her what lies she has heard to inspire her to be so honest, because surely this sort of depth is something he can sink his teeth into, but just because she strays from what is socially acceptable on a regular basis, does not mean that he will do the same.

"I'm not your friend, Eira." He tells her, harshly, and is, again, surprised by how unmoving she can be.

"Because we have spoken twice. I don't expect a friendship to take off instantly." She says.

"You just don't give up." He murmurs, mouth still turned downward.

"Because I have had passed through enough friendships with those who claim they never hide things and then end up with a closet full of skeletons. I've dealt with people who I have nothing in common with, and for _once_ in my _life_, I want meaning." Her voice is so desperate, so pleading, like meaning is a craving and she is begging for him to give it to her. "Life should not be handed to me on a silver platter. If I do not have to work for something, it means nothing to me. I'd rather have to fight for someone that I can understand than get by with someone that I don't." So then it isn't just a challenge. Her reasoning actually seems sound, and to be honest, if he had the social drive that she does, he'd be searching for the same thing. People like Thor are charming enough to make friends easily, but Eira, she is an oddity and surely has a tendency to make others feel awkward when she reveals things to them that they have been trying to deny. Like him, she must have to deal with either meaningless relationships or none at all.

Maybe her honesty is her way of struggling to prove herself to others. Loki doubts it though. They have a few things in common, but he doubts that she would be able to share that pain with him. Even if she did, he doubts there would ever be a circumstance in which he would share it.

"I can make things difficult for you then, if you'd like." He offers, half as a joke. She rolls her eyes.

"Again with that silver tongue. Do these things just come to you or…?" Sarcastic one, she is.

"Do you think you are clever or…?" He says in the exact same tone. She snorts and rolls her eyes again, but this time, she smiles at him. Not so open as before, just a private smile, maybe only meant for her, or maybe meant for the both of them, he is not sure, all he knows is that is the most open anyone has ever been with him.

Perhaps there are some people in this world who can actually help to make life a little easier.

A little voice in the back of his head says that she will be like all of the others and judge him and let him down when he actually begins to need her. That he does not need friends, that he does not need anyone.

All he needs is to prove himself.

And all she will do is stand in the way.


	8. Chapter 8

Heyyy sorry it's taken so long to review. I'm not even sure how many readers I have, so even if it's only one of you, then you should still know, I'm sorry. Truly, I have more written then this, I'm just always too lazy to update right away. So today is double update day. Yayyyy.

Disclaimers apply. I don't own Loki or Thor or anything at all, if I did, this would probably be a movie right now.

Sound good?

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><p>VIII.<p>

_Almost- Very nearly, all but_

Work a little harder. Almost there. You're close enough to taste it, but that isn't close enough. You aren't there until you devour it. Walk a little faster, think a little deeper, read a little longer, you're so close. If you can just break through this barrier, it will all be yours and then you will show them. Then they will see that you are capable and extraordinary and you deserve your title of god. So close. Keep trying. You can do this.

Just so long as repercussions mean nothing to you.

For days on end, Loki pours through Galar's book. That one little glimpse of the portal was just enough to drive him up a wall and now, there isn't a single other thing on his mind. Save for Eira. She fleets from his mind every now and then. For someone who wishes to befriend him, she hasn't made a single effort in the past few days, and he knows that the council is still meeting. Every now and then, he contemplates taking a break from the book to find her, but always decides against it.

There things to do, things to accomplish, spells to cast and arts to learn. He will never be able to prove himself if he spends his time out on the archery range with some daughter of a council man. Even if she is the one person who seems to show him a lick of interest these days.

He is surprised by how little he sees of his family. He makes brief appearances for the next several days, sits at a meal for a few minutes and then disappears off to his quarters again. His mother seems curious, but he quickly dismisses it and tells her that he's very hard at work. She seems to accept it, and if Thor and his father weren't so caught up, arguing over what the council had to say, they might have too.

Of course his father is caught up in Thor and of how the kingdom will go to everyone's favorite son. But Loki will show him, Loki will show them all. How wonderful they will all think he is, once he has learned every technique in Galalr's book. Then the world will no longer doubt his brilliance.

Loki flips past another worn page as he takes in each little detail of the spells written out. There is so much more in here than simply opening portals into different realms. Compared to the rest of this, that is just a bit of fun.

Blood magic, becoming immortal by draining the life from another, sealing the bifrost, becoming invisible. They're all attempted and unfortunately are all failed attempts, as far as Loki can tell, but there are many other astounding ideas in here too. Specifically, possession.

Loki reads over the pages on it, wondering what he could possibly use it for. Better yet, what could he not use it for? The things that he could do if he knew exactly how to use this spell, the stupidity that this realm could be saved from if Loki were able to possess a person for even a matter of minutes.

But first things first, back to the portals. He still isn't as far as he wants to be. Each time he opens a portal, there is no guarantee that Midgard or Vanaheim or any other realm will open up. There is no promise of anything, there is no control, and until he has control, he has nothing.

He reads furiously over words that are so jumbled they barely make sense, as he grips the book tight enough to turn his hands bone white.

Focus, that's all he needs. Pure, untainted focus. If his goals and his drive and his ambition weren't clouding his mind, this would be simple, but instead, each time, he reads over a new paragraph he thinks of how this will impress his father and when he can use it to prove to Asgard that he is just as talented as Thor and each time his brain becomes too clouded with the future, he thinks of Eira and how she will at least serve as a good distraction until he is able to come back and fully immerse himself in this work. Once he gets to that point, he finds himself frustrated enough to throw his head back against the wall in pure exasperation and groan.

This is not helpless, this will happen, he will be successful. Loki runs his fingers across the faded ink and squints his eyes, trying to channel his energy into simply rereading.

Focus. First visualize the direction that the realm is located in, compared to Asgard. He randomly chooses the Midgard, simply because everything there is harmless and simple, and why not start small? Lay the foundations down, do what is logical. He visualizes the direction in which the bifrost beam would point, were he traveling with it, and then, in his head, imagines Earth.

There it is, free and open and made to be ruled. Loki visualizes it, and then tries to think of a place on it. Somewhere specific, somewhere unimportant, somewhere that no one cares about, and, if he were to choose to walk through, he would not be spotted.

He remembers a small town in New Mexico, on the outskirts of Albuquerque, from one of the trips he took to the Midgard, just so that he had a second to himself. The place was hot and miserable, but empty, and gave him more than enough time to think. He sharpes the place in his mind, reaches for every tiny detail that he recalls, thinks it over until he is sure that he has the exact imagine in his head, and then focuses on it, thinks so hard, with such intense concentration, that his temples begin to pound against his thin skin.

So close, so close. Just keep focusing, don't lose concentration.

He opens one eye a fraction of an inch and his breath catches in his throat. He opens both eyes wide. Victory. A grin takes off across his lips and spreads, tainting his features in euphoria as he gazes at his creation. There it is. Clear as the day. That little town that he thought would mean nothing to him.

What was once just an imagine in his head is now visual in the hole he has ripped open between the realms. He reaches out for it, and then snaps his hand back, because his thoughts have strayed away from the glory of success. He has remembered logic. He closes his hand into a tight fist, banishing the sight.

Heimdall might be watching.

He hasn't turned his gaze on Loki yet, the only reason the god of mischief knows this is because, if he did, he'd have reported it to Odin and Odin would have confronted his younger son.

This does not mean that he won't be able to catch the god of mischief in the act at some other time. There has to be some way to…Loki recalls a spell from earlier on in the book and flips through it. There. That's it. Galar must have used this, that must be how he got as far as he did before getting caught.

The spell is used to keep away the wandering eyes of spies, but Loki reasons it will do just fine against Heimdall. The gate keeper has great power, but Loki does not fear him.

The spell is simple enough, actually, Loki is surprised by how simple it is, it must be one of the first things Galar thought up. Rightfully so, with work so brilliant, who wouldn't be trying to either steal his ideas or bring him down when he was on the brink of something extraordinary. Loki recites the incantation, and, because he feels that it is safe and is certain that it works, tries again to open a portal.

He closes his eyes, imagines the bifrost beam, then Earth, thae that tiny town down to the last detail, over and over again, and, when he opens his eyes, he is rewarded with the sight of the town.

Success. This means that it was not a fluke the first time, this means that he has control, this means that he is one step closer to mastering Galar's book and in turn, one step closer to proving to the world what he is capable of.

Then he can truly become his brother's equal.

In that moment, he is torn away, once again from his success, because there is a pounding on his door. He flinches a bit, wondering if it could be his father, if Heimdall really did see him and report it to the king. He tells himself several times, over and over again that it is not, attempts to reassure himself, tilts his chin up and makes his way to the door. If a servant is here to interrupt him, he swears—

He quickly turns his hand into a fist and closes the portal

He makes his way over to the door, opens it, prepared to dismiss Eira, but she isn't at the door. Neither is a servant. Thor is. Smiling, looking exhausted and worn and stressed and everything that Thor cannot possibly be. The throne is not a burden, that old cliché is something used to make the one who does not receive the gift of power less bitter about it.

Even so, Loki puts on a decent façade. Thor is still his brother, Loki still loves him, and soon, the realm will begin to love them as equals. There will be no more favoritism, there will be no more biased actions or cruel taunts. Just life as it should be.

"Hello brother." Thor greets.

"You look troubled, Thor." He observes, Thor sighs heavily and masks it with a chuckle.

"Meeting with the council drags on forever, and then father wants to discuss the meetings afterward, it truly is a burden to receive the throne, brother." He says. A little bubble of bitterness pops within Loki, because Thor can complain all he wants, but Loki will never even get the chance to complain, he was never even offered the chance.

Loki is shocked at how different being angry and envious when he is alone is, compared to being angry and envious in the presence of another. He looks away from Thor and tries to come up with something that does not sound cruel or insincere.

"That is part of being a king, unfortunately. If only you had more patience for the technical aspects of it all." He says, evenly and Thor laughs.

"You must have known that I wouldn't though. All I'm looking for now is someone to spar with. Are you interested?" He asks. Loki lifts an eyebrow.

Really? Choosing him over Volstagg or Hogun? Loki is taken off guard by it all, considering they've barely spoken in over a month, since he and his friends laughed at him for ending up against a wall, even when he did win the fight.

"Really?" He asks, voicing his thoughts. Thor gives him that trademark golden smile that he offers up to just about everyone, but still serves to make the person he is smiling at feel magnificent and more than worthy of the future king's time.

"Of course." Thor nods, and slowly, the smallest of smiles creep across Loki's face.

For all of his rage and his bitterness, he forgot the most important thing.

Thor is his brother, his best friend, it is not Thor's fault that he was chosen to be king.

Loki shouldn't blame him, and despite the fact that anger has driven his mastery of magic, the bitterness might have been taken too far.

Perhaps it is time to lighten up a bit. After all, his brother has chosen him over the idiots he usually would, perhaps there is hope for him yet.

"Alright." Loki agrees, and with that, the two head to the training rooms, where, for just a moment, Loki does not have to worry about being good enough. He is fast where Thor is slow, Thor is strong where he is weak. Neither is better than the other.

In those moments, they truly are equals.


	9. Chapter 9

Part dos of the double update, as promised. As usual, reviews are nice, feedback is good.

Disclaimer goes here.

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><p>IX.<p>

Balance- A state of equilibrium or equipoise; equal distribution of weight, amount, etc.

Have you forgotten who you are? You foolish boy, clean yourself up. You are a god and you let your foolish anger get in the way. But don't worry, the damage has not been too great. Dust yourself off, you can fix this.

Yes, your studies are important, keep working hard, but don't lose who you are, don't lose the logical, rational creature that you strive so hard to be. There is a way to make both happen. You are smart, you are capable, you are able to live a life of moderation.

There is always a way to achieve balance.

Once again there is shame.

Loki feels counterproductive in the extreme, because he has spent almost a month of his life, thriving off of the deepest hate he has ever known, and now, because a few people here and there pay him a spec of attention, he is forcing himself to step away.

Fight off the anger, beat down the rage, deny the jealousy, conceal the bitterness. Above all, keep every negative feeling bottled up. He repressed them once, he can go back to doing that again.

And if he can manage to take as long of strides in sorcery as he was before, now with his pain hidden away, he is one step closer to perfection. They will all adore him.

No, they won't adore, they will respect. Loki doesn't need people bowing down and kneeling at his feet and kissing his hands whenever he walks by, he just needs to be appreciated.

So, every day, for the next week, once he has studied to the point where he has some success and the monster within him becomes hard to repress, he tries to make appearances, spend some time with his family, call upon Eira whenever she is around.

And none of these things taste as sweet as the unadulterated success that his pain had been driving.

He needs something more, he needs something that fills him more than just this meaningless façade.

And then, Eira brings something to the table that he never would have expected her to.

The typical splendor of the summer has been offset by rain. The constant downpour has been ongoing for almost a week now, which has forced Thor and his friends to take shelter indoors. Loki, on the other hand, has never been bothered by rain, and nothing save for stupidity seems to deter Eira.

That is one thing about her that he is certain he likes, she has as little tolerance for idiocy as he.

"And I swear, if I have to hear him tell me that there are actually eight realms one more time, I will not be able to restrain myself from putting an arrow in his face." She elicits a small, albeit genuine chuckle from him, and she replies with the faintest smile back. "I'm being serious."

"Oh, I know, that's why it's funny." He tells her, smirking in her direction. She rolls her eyes and leans back against the wet grass, blinking away the rain drops that fall into her eyes. It is interesting, for someone who seems so open about everything, Eira has a thousand different facets, she reacts differently to everything and almost always looks at everything eagerly until she has reason not to. She is not hopeful and optimistic, the way most like her all, but from his observations, he's realized that he was right about her from the start. Life is juicy to her and she just wants to have a bite. She wants no door unopened, no experience unlived.

"Even the bad ones." She told him that about a week ago, when they went on a walk through the rain.

He wonders if she has ever been deterred, if she has ever experienced failure or agony or real pain, or if she is capable of bouncing back from disappointment so quickly. There are things that he wants to discover, but is either too proud too, or does not take strong enough interest to, so he lets her do as she pleases and reveal herself in intervals as she sees fit.

Either way, she does not criticize him or think him unworthy of her time, she does not kick him while he is down, and after a while her incessant boldness begins to lose its shock. She gives him the time of day and actually seems to enjoy his company.

She gives him attention, and she isn't altogether a miserable creature, he could honestly do a lot worse.

It is while she lies there, staring up at the clouds above her, that she says something that begins to tickle his fancy.

"I think I'd like to send him to all nine realms. Just for a couple seconds each, that way, the fool can learn to count." She says it casually, and he knows she does not take any real stock in it, but already, a spark has been ignited. He knows the idiot she is talking about, and playing a trick on him would be absolutely delicious.

A smirk begins curling on his face, and by time Eira looks over at him, he is too far gone.

"You're not thinking of…" She lets herself trail off because his smirk is so mischievous, that is all the answer she needs. She laughs once, loudly and grins back at him.

"Let the chaos begin?"

"Let the chaos begin."

And that is where it all begins. One simple complaint and suddenly, it is all fun and games and what idiots like Fandral would call "parlor tricks", but Eira has the decency to respect as magic. She hears someone make a less than pleasant comment about him, in secret, and suddenly he knows and every time they attempt to make an important speech, somehow, their tongue ends up literally, becoming tied.

Eira is the eyes and ears, but Loki is the skill behind it all.

He doesn't bother to ask her whether or not what he is doing is alright with her. He refuses to accept that this is a partnership, or even a friendship, they're just having a bit of fun, that is all.

Plus, she has already made it clear that she think's it's something akin to karma.

"I wouldn't have told you about these people if I didn't think they were arrogant, wicked, cruel, liars. It's the equivalent to giving someone their just desserts."

Thankfully, Eira is a notorious people watcher, so those "just desserts" are handed out often enough to keep Loki interested.

But only for so long.

Someone with a shorter attention span might be kept interested by doing this, but Loki knows better. He sees what he is doing and he is having fun, truly he is, but fun will not make his father see that he is worth as much as Thor, fun will not gain him respect, fun will not make him any smarter, and without these things, there is no progress.

And Loki needs progress.

So, when he takes a seat in his room and starts pouring over Galar's book, he expects to have to turn an offer from Eira down. Much to his surprise, she does not come to call.

It is for the better though, because, instead of scratching and clawing and biting to get out, the monster within him purrs the second he opens the volume. And not having a constant war in his head, is something that Loki always looks forward to.

That last time, he started off small, Midgard and Asgard are so close together, if he really wants a challenge, if he really wants to test his ability, than he needs to focus on another realm, one much farther away, one that he does not know as well.

Unfortunately, the next farthest realm out is Jotunheim. In all honesty, Loki would take the dark elves of Svartalheim over the frost giants any day. Something about Jotunheim has terrified him since he was a child, for reasons that he can never seem to figure out.

Loki tries, with a newly cleared mind, to summon a portal to Svartalheim, but with absolutely no success.

He tries again, comes up with a place he has only seen in paintings but is certain exists, he focuses, gives every ounce of his energy, and still, each time, the portal he opens reveals nothing to him. It is blank, empty, as though the reach is too far and his knowledge of the place too scarce, and because of that, he is enraged.

Why does even his own craft set him up for failure? Why does something he loves so deeply and is so devoted to and spends so much time perfecting, fail him when all he wants is the smallest taste of success.

Fine, if things are this way, then so be it, Loki is no stranger to disappointment, he never has been, he'll open up that portal to Jotunheim, he'll face his fears, he'll be that brave, stupid, foolish man that stands like an idiot in the face of danger and tries to avoid it in no way. He will charge head on and then no one will be able to say that he is nothing like his brother.

Loki has been to Jotunheim twice in his life. The first time was with Odin, something about discussing a peace offering with Laufey, but the frost giant king was away, and they were there only a matter of minutes before leaving. Loki doesn't know whether or not that peace offering was ever discussed. He knows about the truce that Asgard has with Jotunheim, but if there is something beyond that, well, then that would be news to him. Needless to say, Loki remembers very little of that journey. He was, after all, only a young boy at the time, and his memories are far too clouded by fear to pull up an imagine in his mind.

The second time was by accident. He and Thor were in their mid teens and neither bore any great burden or responsibility, so they were free to do as they chose, and more often than not, Thor would suggest grand adventures and Loki would usually go along because he was already well ahead of others in school and had nothing better to do with his time.

The purpose of the journey was to go to Vanaheim, make conversation, the sons of Odin are all but worshipped in the realm of the lesser gods, and when you are young and vain, who can ever get enough praise?

The purpose had been to go to Vanaheim, but the gatekeeper had been away for a split second and Thor had decided that he could open the bifrost himself. He did, but not to where they wanted. Somehow, they ended up two realms over, in the land of the frost giants, and were greeted to the most frightening looks Loki can recall.

Blood thirsty, Loki knows these Jotuns would have broken the truce with Asgard and killed them on the spot, had Loki not quickly concealed them in smoke and pulled Thor out of the realm before he had the chance to attack.

He remembers the snow bank they'd landed in and the dangerously sharp icicles that they'd avoided, and the frozen rocks that plummeted down and only narrowly missed them. He remembers that trip perfectly. Perhaps that experience was good for something, it has come in handy now.

He imagines the bifrost. He imagines the cave and the cliffs and the ice, the frost and the biting wind and the blizzard around them. He imagines them, and when he opens his eyes, this place is revealed to him in a portal.

Loki stares at it, face tranquil for a moment. It is so much less frightening when he is looking at it from the comfort of his own room, where he is safe and nothing can touch him and he does not have to worry about Thor's recklessness getting them killed.

To be honest, in this moment, it is not scary at all. The landscape is barren and ruined, destroyed during the war of the nine realms, because no matter how peaceful a king Odin is now, he defends his realm and the eight others with his life, and if one has to be taught a lesson in the process, then so be it.

He looks at this desolate, morose, dark looking world and feels the cold sting of the wind, and for once, he actually feels at peace. The sundrenched realm of Asgard has always been too much for him, so the rain has been an odd sort of comfort but this…this is new, he is entirely relaxed, nothing frightens him, nothing threatens him, in fact, if it weren't for the fact that this is Jotunheim, this is the realm of the enemy, he might actually contemplate stepping into the portal.

But Loki is not suicidal, he'd rather stay alive and make the faintest bit less progress, than get killed for his craft. He is not mad, regardless of what silly girls like Herdis might say. He smirks as he thinks of the most recent stunt that he pulled on her, thinking of how she began changing colors from neon orange to vibrant blue to hot pink, while she was trying to impress the son of someone important. Needless to say, she didn't impress him much at all, he thought her strange and left her where she was while Loki watched from a distance, smirking all the while. He hopes that teaches her to spread her stupid rumors, thinking that they actually mean something to anyone, thinking that she actually means something to anyone. If he is unimportant to the world, then she should be nonexistent, that pathetic little pest.

It is while Loki is wrapped up in his nostalgia and his loathing that something happens without him realizing.

A Jotun woman is walking through the frosty wasteland, searching for her missing children. She lifts up rocks, sifts through snow banks, even calls out their names at the top of her lungs, but Loki does not realize that she has appeared in the portal, instead, he stares off, blankly, at nothing in particular, until it is almost too late for him.

When he finally gets his bearings together, she is staring him right in the eye. Her red eyes beat into his and seize him and make him feel as though air has been ripped through his lungs, the same way he has ripped a hole in the realms. She doesn't make a move to harm him, but perhaps she knows the look in her eyes is doing that enough. She is only looking with what she thinks is curiosity, but there is something that Loki finds so blood curdling and disgusting about the Jotuns, something that he wants to avoids, something that makes that wicked, green eyed monster within him purr louder than it ever has before. Loki stands there, paralyzed in fear for a moment as the Jotun woman watches him. He might have stayed that way for several minutes while his head spun and raced a million miles an hour, were it not for her actions.

They are not sharp or swift or brutal, but slow, and weighed down, and so delicate, as though she does not know whether this is real, or if it is some odd mirror she is staring into. She brings a hand up and reaches out, moves to touch, stretches out to the portal, and ever so delicately, begins to put a single finger on it, as though it is a placid lake that she longs to test the waters of, but does not want to disturb.

The fact that she is coming at him sets Loki into action, he quickly jumps up and clenches his hand into a tight fist. The portal disperses instantly, taking her image with it, and the god of mischief is left wide eyed, afraid and, above all, interested.

The Jotun woman must have been closer than Loki realized.

He bends down and looks at the ground where the frosty blue skin of her fingertip has fallen.


	10. Chapter 10

My brain is fried. My characterization feels faulty. I have exams this week. I left Thor at my house so I can't watch it until I go back home for break, I've hit a writing road block. Please, please, please. Kind words and reviews keep me going and I've, unfortunately, ran out of fuel.

Disclaimers apply.

* * *

><p>X.<p>

_Vulnerable- Capable or susceptible to being wounded or hurt, as by a weapon; open to moral attack, criticism or temptation_

You are weak. You are lost. You are a scared, wounded animal that wanders through the dark. Try to deny it all you want, you know it is true, you know what you are. Lonely, thin skinned, hurt, confused. These things sit even deeper inside of you than the rage and the envy and the pain that you cover them with because to be hateful and to be cutting is far easier than to be weak. To be weak is to be pathetic and that is something you won't be, ever.

Even when the words cut like knives, even when the laughter stings, even when the taunting breaks your very being, you will hold your head high and pretend that self-assurance is all you need and that you are the very opposite of inadequate.

Silly, foolish little boy.

Everyone knows you have a breaking point.

Three months. Three months have came and passed since Loki met Eira, since he discovered Galar's book, since the date for Thor's coronation had been set.

Three months, and someone decided it was time for another party.

Loki's level of patience for social gatherings like this has never been high, but has only decreased since stumbling onto that brilliant, tattered little book of spells. The most he can stand of anyone is a few hours with his parents or Thor or Eira a week, and even that tries him in the extreme.

His family, occasionally comes to call upon him, but he rarely responds with more than that he is busy. Loki has things to do, spells to cast, and fix, and alter so that Galar's failed attempts become successful at his hand. For a while, Eira tried to get his attention with more attempts at mischief, but seemed to catch on quickly that he was otherwise occupied and simply left him to his work. He hasn't made an effort to contact her, although, occasionally, when he is successful at trying a new spell, he thinks of her and how perhaps she could be his friend, and how perhaps he could trust her and how then he would have someone of a decent level of intellect to share his findings with, but usually, he closes himself off right after and buries himself back in his work.

Tonight though, is another one of those occasions that anyone who matters is going to be at. It is Thor's birthday, and although the god of thunder will have a true celebration with his closest friends a little later, today, they put on a façade and pretend they care about all of the members of the court, while they feast on the finest delicacies and drink only the most expensive wines.

None of those nuances have really been Thor's taste, however. He has little appreciation for the finest things in life and would easily take mediocrity any day, Loki thinks.

The god of mischief spends the bulk of his day cooped up inside of his room, pouring through the book, losing himself in it, opening up portals, venturing into even the darkest realms and coming back unscathed. The progress he has made is astounding, and once he opened that first portal to Jotunheim, the learning curve proved to be quite steep. At this rate, the things that he will accomplish by Thor's coronation will be enough to get him noticed and yes, even respected.

So, when he finally makes his way into the room that the party is hosted in, he does so with his head held high and a confident grin on his face.

Thor is usually the shining star, but tonight, Loki feels ablaze. Nothing can bring him down.

Oh, how wrong he is.

He looks for something to do, someone to busy himself with, a simple means to an end, and is surprised when he sees Eira at a table with Thor and his cohorts. A few are laughing nervously, but if the look on Volstagg's face says anything, she is making them a whole new level of uncomfortable. Still, she doesn't bother to walk away.

Something in his blood boils. So that must be why she dismissed him so easily. For all her talk of truth and making meaningful relationships, she lives a lie as much as anyone else does. He is about to stalk away, when she calls out his name. He looks over at her face, alight with recognition and pleasant surprise and sees Thor beaming too, and these two smiles are somehow enough to bring him over to the table.

He takes a seat as far away from Eira as possible, finding himself feeling foolish, because for some stupid reason, he believed her talk of honesty, and believed that it was him specifically that she was looking to be friends with. How wrong he was, this girl is scum, she wants nothing more than a seat on the king's council and will apparently stoop to any depth to achieve her goals.

Loki flinches because he begins to think that maybe, that is what everyone thinks of him. He looks at Eira a little softer now, noticing the confused look on her face when she returns his gaze. She looks hesitant too for a moment, but gestures with her head in one direction, as though to say "let's go over there for a moment", before excusing herself from the table. Loki follows after her, almost directly at her heels. He doesn't know when she plans on stopping, or if she even seems to know when she will, but they make their way out to the balcony and finally, she seems to decide that this is as good a destination as any other.

"Do you have something you want to say to me or was there something unpleasant underneath your nose while you were talking to me?" She begins and he frowns, furrowing his brow.

"You were the one who led me out here." He reminds her. She rolls her eyes.

"You looked upset with me, I wanted to know why." She tells him. Perhaps he should just avoid her, but something in his head tells him that it would be far crueler to call her out on the liar she really is.

"No reason whatsoever. Besides the fact that all your talk of truth and honesty, and searching for meaning was just some sort of elaborate lie." She gives him a look somewhere between hurt and confused, she goes to say something, but he cuts her off as quickly as he can. "What did you hope to accomplish, Eira? Did you think that befriending the brother of a future king would get you far? Did you think that I was actually your friend? Were you really so foolish as to believe—"

"I'm sorry I hurt you." He comes up short, mostly because he was hoping she wouldn't speak, but also, because she says it so genuinely, again and dammit, no he will not believe her. He snorts.

"You think you hurt me?" He scowls, she frowns.

"You wouldn't be this upset if I didn't. I didn't mean to. And I've never lied to you." He blinks twice, scoffs and looks away, getting ready to head back through the doors and into the palace when she grabs him by his wrist. Instinctively, he tears back and turns on her, eyes full of hate. She all but jumps back and her hand recoils into her form again. Even so, she struggles to muster up something that sounds competent. "I don't know why you think I have lied, but I'm sorry." She insists. He curls his hand into a tight fist and doesn't unclench it, even when his fingernails begin biting into his palm.

"You don't know why…" Her words taste so bitter in his mouth, and he hates her so much in that moment that he looks away. "You claim to search for meaning, but the second I stop wasting my time with you, you move on to the next royal you can find, just so that your goals are achieved." He snaps. This time, she comes up short. It takes her a few moments to actually process what he is saying in her head, and while she does this, her face contorts.

"Are you upset that I was talking to Thor?" She asks so incredulously that it sends his rage to the edge and Loki's hand clenches even tighter.

She has to keep reminding him that she, and everyone else in the world would choose Thor over him, doesn't she?

"Loki, I was making conversation with him, that does not automatically mean that we are friends." He snorts and rolls his eyes, still untrusting. She takes a step closer and he turns back to look at her, eyes still spitting venom, but this time, she does not step back. "You know I want a seat on the council more than anything else in the world, and yes, that is why I was consorting with your brother, but do not mistake my friendship with you for manipulation. If I were riding on your coattails toward success, I would have at least had the courtesy to let you know that the moment I first spoke to you." She snaps at him, this time bold and fearless, stepping on his toes and crossing the line, and not playing nice because someone asks her to. It is as though she has been trying to be patient with him for so long and is now fed up to the point where patience is nothing.

"Then why are you so adamant, why do you keep pushing for friendship when I leave you behind so often?" He snaps right back, expecting for her to pause and think, but she doesn't step back, and her response comes instantly.

"For someone so brilliant you really pay attention to so little! Have you not realized that I am a woman of the court? Do you not know what that means? It means that I have no more than a few years time before I am likely married off to someone, for some reason or another. It means that I have to get turned down every day and fight and scratch and claw to get what I want out of life. It means that I can't sit and let things pass me by, because in a short time, I will be expected to settle down and have a family with someone I don't even care about, and just once before then, I want something that means something! And yes, I might have to try so hard with you and even when I think I'm getting somewhere, you close up out of the blue, but I thought that if I tried hard enough, something good would come out of this, and there could be a genuine, meaningful friendship, but if I've thought wrong, then go ahead, tell me. Tell me and I won't waste a second more of your time." She shouts and when she finally backs down, she is breathing heavily and her face is flushed and she looks like she's just finished running a race. She looks so angry, so livid, so passionate, so raw.

She is stripped down to her barest form and for the first time, Loki feels like he is staring right through her, instead of the other way around.

Perhaps her motives are pure, perhaps she is being honest.

He swallows dryly and looks away from her again, lips still pulled into a frown, but after a moment, the frown begins to soften.

She is too irritated to notice though, she starts to move around him, ready to storm out, but he grabs her wrist, the way she grabbed his, and the second he does, she stops.

"Thank you." He stiffens up again, because she lets her guard down and that is something he isn't comfortable with by any means.

"This doesn't mean that we're friends." She stiffens and turns back to him, eyebrow lifted. "I told you I won't make this easy for you. But I suppose you're a half way intelligent person. You do seem to be able to hold your own when push comes to shove, I guess that must be respectable on some level." He says. She snorts, but doesn't make a sarcastic remark, which he supposes is a success in and of itself.

"Well then I suppose I'll have to show you that I'm more than simply tolerable to be around." She says, tone laced with determination and he smiles a little bit.

Having someone fight for him.

Now this is new.

It isn't that Eira is special or wonderful or everything he has ever wanted in a person, but she is offering this, and that is honestly sort of…nice.

The monster in him doesn't rear its head.

"I suppose you will." He takes a step back in and then, she has to go and pull him a step backward in her progress by thinking aloud.

"What has the world done to make you so untrusting?"


	11. Chapter 11

Updates will come as reviews do. I have ten more chapters of this finished and saved on my computer, it's all up to you guys.

As usual, I own nothing.

XI.

_Trust- Reliance on the integrity, strength, ability, surety, etc. of a person or thing; confidence_

Trust is foreign to you. You are afraid to trust her. Everything that you have ever known keeps you away, but knowledge and observation and relevance tell you that just once, it might be okay.

You want to trust but you don't know how. You want to be open, but she rips you apart without permission. You want to have one person to confide in, and if she didn't leave you feeling so naked every time you spoke to her, she might be that person.

But she is who she is, so you fight it.

You are glad that she fights back.

Eira makes her way to see Loki every day for the next week.

She comes to him with simple favors "tell me what my mother is trying to get at in this passage, I don't even know what that means", "the weather's starting to cool, would you care to join me for a walk?", "come to the archery range with me?" and although most of the time, he pretends that she has distracted him from his work and that it is a hassle, it is honestly nice to be called on so frequently.

Eira is fascinating to watch. She looks at things in a way completely different from the way that he does, but at the exact time, very similarly. In both of them is that thirst for knowledge, that quest to learn, that drive to accomplish and to prove oneself, but in her, there is a freedom that Loki wonders if he will ever learn to live with. She takes life in stride, and he discovers, almost instantly, that she is atrocious at planning.

She does, however, seem to enjoy colder, darker weather, like he does. Rain, snow, thunder, lightning, hail, clouds, ice, none of it manages to bring Eira down, least of all the cold. Now that the summer is beginning to fade away and temperatures have dropped, he finds that her wardrobe has barely changed, where most would be throwing on cloaks, she exposes her bare arms to the chilling wind and simply tells him that she enjoys the cold because it makes her feel alive.

Today is an off day, the wind that used to chill them both, is now much warmer. The odd hot day once fall has begun. They take a step outside, she looks at him and says "would you prefer we spend our day in the library instead?" It might be the best idea she's ever had. They steal off to the opposite side of the palace, and find shelter in the place they met.

Loki looks around, and the monster inside of him squirms in pleasure, knowing that he will be able to get something accomplished today. But he quiets the sound of the squirming as quickly as he can. He does not have Galar's book with him, and even if he did, he wouldn't want to explain what it is to Eira. A beaten up little book like that is bound to make her curious, and if there is anything that he is certain of, it is that he cannot let her or anyone else know, exactly how dark the magic he is delving into, is, until he's proven himself a worthy son by using it.

Eira takes a volume into her hand, blows the dust off of it, and looks at Loki.

"Did you know that for all of the times I've been here, that time we met was the only time I've ever seen another person in here?" At first, he finds that strange, and then he realizes, he's always been alone in here too. That was why this place became his sanctuary in the first place. When others were taunting him, or acting foolish, or simply choose not to invite him to something, he would come in here, and his mind would be free from all of the idiocy that seems to govern this realm. Servants don't spend time in it, no one is there often enough to require cleaning. Visitors do not stop by, with the exception of Eira, they all have important business to attend to and don't waste a second on something trivial, even if that trivial matter really is as grand as this library. Those who live here are either not amused by the knowledge that it holds, or simply do not have the patience to sit down and discover something exhilarating.

"You know, you're right." He murmurs, opening up a book for himself. It isn't something he'd normal read, but he supposes that is something that comes with the territory of this girl. Never reliving the same experience unless it is grand beyond compare, and surely, none of these basic level books of magic would be considered grand by his standards. "Unfortunately, preaching the glory of the library to Thor and his friends is a lost cause." She laughs, looking down at her book for a moment, before gazing back up at him.

"It's kind of a shame, you know. This place holds more than just books of science and magic, one does not have to be remarkably intelligent to read, all that is needed is a bit of drive, and that can take anyone for miles. Intelligence is great, but when wasted on someone lazy well…I'd take ambition over intellect any day." She says. He lifts an eyebrow, takes her words in and processes them, before coming to a conclusion.

"Fortunately, I don't have to chose, but I think I'd have to disagree with you. There is only so much that can be learned without intelligence. You can pull through all of the books you'd like, study for hours, if you aren't bright enough to comprehend it, then it is a useless effort." He decides.

"Yes, but with drive, at least there is a desire to learn. Even the smartest person may lead a life of the least importance, because they never aspire to be anything beyond what they were born. It is always those with drive that make history." She smiles this energetic little smile that reminds him of the embers left over from a fire that never seem to want to burn out. He chuckles at her.

"This is no longer a debate about intelligence versus ambition, is it?" He asks. She shrugs, with a look that says "guilty as charged" across her face. "Tell me, Eira, why do you have this desire to make yourself known in the world?" He feels as though he's opened up a huge door, one that he should be avoiding at all costs, but the curiosity is overwhelming. She gives a sad, desperate sounding laugh and folds the book in her hand shut.

"So many times have I seen someone whom I find brilliant beyond compare, forgotten. My mother's name has never meant anything to anyone beyond my family, and those who care enough about sorcery to study beyond what is learned in school. My father, he is diplomatic and intelligent, and yet, he is a councilman, not a warrior, so his name will never mean a thing to anyone. I've seen people who I find fascinating fade away into history, and I want, more than anything, to be important in at least one person's life. I want to make a change, I want to make an impact, I want to leave a footprint that will never go away. I don't want to be the woman that lets life pass her by and never alters someone's life, never makes a difference, never has her fill of what she can offer the world. I need to test my full potential Loki, and I can only do that if I'm known." When she speaks, she looks so enticed by her own words, so exhilarated, as though getting her point across to him will only inspire her more, and once again, her palms begin to twitch in excitement. She takes a breath and looks at him, eyes more hungry than ever, and for some reason, in that moment, she reminds him of a feral cat, stalking its prey, waiting and preparing to pounce.

Strange. Loki never thought of himself as prey.

"Have you considered that things with the council may not go through?"

"Many times. But I'd rather try as hard as I can and be let down each and every single time, then to act as though putting in an effort is above me." She says, smiling at him with smile like embers and her hungry eyes.

Loki is surprised by how easily he can relate to what she is saying. Wanting to be known, wanting to be heard, wanting so badly not to fall into someone else's shadow. To think that anyone else in the world experiences that sort of desire feels so odd to him, that it almost feels like he is not in his right mind anymore. He fidgets and looks away from her. Just when he thinks he is beginning to get comfortable with Eira, she does this and then, once again, he has such a hard time being in the same room as her. He slides his book back on to the shelf as well, avoiding her eyes for as long as possible.

Does she realize how hard she makes it to talk to her? How impossible it is to be open with someone who can see straight through the layers of lies? She peels him open, dissects him, turns him inside out, just with her observations, and something inside of him makes him loathe her for that. The monster will always try to claw away at every action of hers. But behind that monster is someone neglected and left alone for far too long that begs for her to discover him.

Unfortunately, the monster will almost always be strong enough to win.

He is surprised to find, however, that he does not want her to leave, so as quickly as possible, he darts to another subject.

"You said you have interest in sorcery, but no talent…" He begins.

"Yes, my mother tried to teach me many years ago. I learned a few tricks, but, I'm sure it wouldn't surprise you to learn that I lacked the subtlety that such an art requires." She confesses, instantly surprised by how loudly he laughs at this. "Is that funny?" She asks, although she doesn't find it to be, her feelings aren't hurt by his laughter, not in the least bit. What she is curious about, is why.

"No, you are right though, I should have realized that." He says. She smiles.

Eira isn't quite sure what has made his attitude more pleasant, and she does want to know, so badly, but she knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth, and this is a gift horse if she ever did see one. A week ago, he acted as though he'd rather sit through a conversation with Herdis, rather then spend a second being pleasant to Eira, and now, all of a sudden, out of the blue, he actually seems to take an interest in her. She wants, more than anything, to know what he is thinking, to dive into his thought process, to have a taste of what is occurring in his mind.

Fortunately for her, she will never get that taste. For if she did, she would surely regret ever desiring it in the first place.

They sit in silence for a moment or so, before finally, the curiosity drives her over the edge. She rocks back and forth on her heels, clenches and unclenches her fists and then finally, tries biting her lips to keep her mouth shut, but none of those things manage to do the trick.

"Loki, what brought on this new desire to be friends? I'm not complaining, by any means, but I'm sure you can understand when I say that I won't be able to rest until I know the answer." He does know what she's saying, because he feels that way almost every day, but her question still makes him squirm.

Just tell her. Just tell her and she won't bother you about it again, and this can be done and over with.

"It's not that I desire it any more than I did before. I don't need you making a scene again and yelling at me in front of everyone…that, and I suppose it's because I've finally decided that you're probably not going to lie to me anytime in the near future." He mumbles, not looking at her. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees her roll hers.

"There is no need to talk in circles, Loki. You consider me trustworthy, I appreciate that." Why does she have to speak? He makes so much progress and then she has to dissect everything and make him close right back up again.

He tenses up and turns away from her, crossing his arms to his chest.

Close up.

Just because she is being open with him does not mean that he will do the same. He hates when she peels him apart, he hates when she rips him open, he hates when she does what no one else gives him: the time of day to do.

"You know Eira, you're perhaps the least socially competent person I know." He informs her. She looks at him, completely shocked and an awkward laughter spills from her lips.

"And why, exactly is that?" She asks, amusement and curiosity fighting a battle for dominance on her face.

He finds that is the look she gives him when she isn't quite sure how to react. It's one that Loki actually struggles to bring to her face, because watching her try to decipher what he is saying is the closest he feels he can come to deceiving her, and when a Liesmith has such a difficult time deceiving a person, getting as close to it as possible becomes their goal. He loves to leave her hanging, enjoys teasing her, playing around with her, watching her reaction, because she always manages to give an amusing one.

"Because you have little self control, and have a tendency to make others feel awkward without meaning to do so. You make almost everyone in the room uncomfortable each time you open your mouth." He says. She laughs now, not nervously, just flat out amused.

"It is a gift and a curse, I suppose." Loki knows that. He feels the same way about his knack for lying. Strange, how they are so similar and yet, more different than he fathomed possible.

He looks up at her, wondering if she really would be able to understand a bit of what is constantly at war inside of him, wondering if she will be able to bear the burden that he does if the situation ever called for it. He wonders if she will be able to distract him from the agony the same way she distracts him from the rage.

He wonders, and he gives it a shot.

The final test. If she passes this, then she will have proven herself.

"You would not know the first thing about being cursed." He says it so quietly, still debating whether or not he should even say it, should even test her, should even try this. If she fails, if she is just another wasted attempt then these past few weeks will have been all for naught, and that lack of progress will destroy him. Yes he has gotten farther in Galar's book, but he's spent the bulk of his time allowing her to try to fill the void within in him.

He wants her to fill it, he needs her to fill it, without her—

The monster purrs at the thought of her leaving and Loki straightens up. No. He is not some pathetic child, desperate for love. He is loved by his family, there are people that must love him too, although not nearly as much as they love Thor. She just…she offers reassurance, that is all. If she fails the test, well then, he tells himself that he is not invested enough in their friendship to care, but realizes very quickly that he has already put more effort into it than he is comfortable admitting.

Dammit, how did things get this far? How did he let her snatch his life up in her hands and run wild with it?

"I might not. I might. I imagine the burden of being that way is great to bear. But Loki…you'd be surprised what I can carry." When he looks to her, he realizes that she has taken a step closer, has set a hand on his arm, and is smiling gently up at him.

He keeps his eyes as far away from hers as possible, but for the first time, he does not slide away from her touch.

Well, he thinks, perhaps this counts as a passing grade.

The tests are over.

But the real challenge has only just begun.

This girl has the power to destroy him if she betrays him. And now, it is his goal to get a leg up on her.

That way, even if she takes him down, she will go crashing down with him.

And, if he has it his way, she will fall twice as hard as he does.


End file.
